Harry Potter & the Horcruxe Crusade
by A.S. Leif
Summary: Post HBP.Harry decides to hold firm to his promise of searching and destroying the three lost horcruxes of Voldemort. Aided by his friends, Harry's quest begins at the infamous Zotzion Univeristy of Bulgaria, where Voldemort himself studied.
1. Farewells and Beginnings

_**Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter or any of the characters, places, events, etc. **_

_**Summary: Set after HBP. Harry decides to hold firm to his promise of searching and destroying Voldemort's remaining four horcruxes. Aided by his friends and all those whom he calls family, Harry's quest begins and continues with danger, puzzles, new friends, new foes, and an ever-continuing lesson of life's many surprises, good and bad.

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**Chapter 1: Farewells and Beginnings**

Lightning flashed outside as thunder crashed, its voice tearing through the air like a vicious predator. Mist rose from the ground, which was being pelted by the rain. Trees' limbs bent from both rain and wind, the wood creaking even as leaves were torn from their stems. Though it was well past dawn, no trace of the sun was visible through the opaque clouds that gathered in thick swarms over the city of London.

In the house number 4 Privet Drive, in the smallest bedroom on the second floor, a young man watched as the storm raged, mirroring the emotions he had felt just three weeks ago. His black hair was messy and stuck up in the back, as if he'd just rolled out of bed and not bothered to comb it. His emerald green eyes were gentle, yet blazing behind his round-rimmed glasses. He was a bit thin for a seventeen year old, and wasn't as tall as most teenagers his age. In fact, were it not for the thin scar on his forehead, he would seem like the kind of person who could easily go unnoticed. However, this, though he dearly wished for it to be so, was not.

Harry Potter, the 'Chosen One', 'Boy-Who-Lived', and supposed future savior of the magical world, had just turned seventeen at one minute past midnight that morning, or rather, pre-dawn, for the darkness of night and the shadows of the storm had still had their reign over the skies. He watched through his window as the clouds continued their domination over the sky, growing larger with each moment. They seemed to signify the growing challenge that would eventually be his, the war that was growing to higher levels, the revenge that was so desperately thirsted for on both sides of light and dark. _But where am I?_ He thought. _In the night or in the day? Perhaps in the middle?_ He shook his head, a faint smile crossing his face. He was not in the night, the dark, the evil that was Voldemort's side. He never would be, too many people had sacrificed themselves, too many people had been forced to make choices that they did not want. He would not let their efforts go to waste.

Harry stretched, moving off his bed to ready his possessions. Naught but a day ago had he received a letter from Remus Lupin, the last true Marauder, that he would be leaving Privet Drive, once and for all. Hedwig, his faithful snowy owl, was already secure in her cage, and his trunk was packed and locked. His presents and cards that he'd received that morning were carefully tucked away in a backpack he'd gotten from Dudley, or rather, one that's straps could no longer fit around the miniature whale's bloated arms. His wand was tucked into his jeans pocket, Harry grabbed the cloak he'd left out and threw it over his arm before levitating his things down the stairs.

Along with his birthday cards, Harry had received a letter from the Ministry of Magic, officially declaring him a legal adult in the magical world, and therefore allowing him free usage of magic. He grinned when he thought about how the Dursleys would have reacted if he had been remaining here for the rest of the holidays. His grin vanished. He would not be returning to Hogwarts.

That much he had decided after Dumbledore had died, no, been murdered, by the man he had trusted so much: Severus Snape. Just thinking of him made Harry's blood burn, but he quickly squashed the memories of the slimy traitor from his mind; he had more important things to concentrate on, namely the lost horcruxes of Tom Marvolo Riddle.

Reaching the landing downstairs, Harry left his things in the hall and went into the living room, where the Dursleys were on this Sunday morning. They looked at him with a mixture of irritation and fear as they took their gazes from the telly. "Yes?" barked Uncle Vernon, the large, beefy, senior-whaleman with more muscle than common sense; and-- seeing as how sorely he lacked the first-- that was saying something.

Harry took a breath, ignoring his Uncle's rudeness. "Remus Lupin is coming to pick me up," he said quietly, his voice just audible against the crashing of thunder that sounded outside. "I'm seventeen now, and I won't be a burden to you anymore. I won't be coming back."

Only Aunt Petunia seemed to realize the importance of what he was saying. The two males simply nodded, or rather, wiggled their enormous and various chins in acknowledgement before returning their attention to the telly. Petunia looked at Harry, and he thought he saw a flicker of concern, but the faint thought that it could be for him was replaced by an inner sigh of what-else-did-I-expect when she asked. "So the wards here won't work anymore?"

"No," Harry answered. "They probably won't. With Dumbledore-" his voice caught in his throat, but he cleared it and forced himself to go on. "With Dumbledore dead, I don't think they even exist now, and I don't know anyone else powerful enough to re-create them."

She nodded. "Very well." At that moment, the doorbell rang, but its faint chime was nearly lost due to the thunder.

"Get that, would you boy?" Vernon barked.

"Yes, Sir." Harry replied. "Good-bye." Petunia nodded, but her husband and son did not notice.

With the oh-so-touching farewells over, Harry went to the door, and opened it to reveal a rain-covered Remus, who was smiling slightly. "Hello Harry, ready to go?"

Harry nodded, putting a smile on his face as well. "Yup." He replied, grabbing the handle of his trunk and putting on his cloak.

"Don't you want to say good-bye to your relatives?" Remus asked, a faint look of concern on his face.

"Already have, thanks though."

"Alright, then let's be off, shall we?" Remus offered Harry his arm, and the younger wizard grasped the trunk and Hedwig with one hand before laying his other on Remus' arm.

He took one last look at his 'home' for sixteen years of his life, and brought up the memories it had come with. With a slightly bitter smile, Harry realized that the only good one he had was the day he had received the letter from no one, it now seemed so long ago, nearly a lifetime. As he took in the gardens that were overflowing with water, the grass that was bent and drowning in mud, the pressure of apperation overwhelmed him, and number four Privet Drive vanished from view.

* * *

Harry and Remus arrived in another part of muggle London, only about two blocks away from the Leaky Cauldron. It was a small, neat, normal neighborhood, with small, neat, normal houses. One of these houses was number 35, the house Remus had just bought last month under a new name when he had invited Harry to live with him. 

It was raining here as well, but the storm didn't seem so ominous, unlike it had at Privet Drive. It seemed like the rain was washing away all the dirt and grim of the past, and the lightning was lighting the way to a new beginning as the thunder boomed its support of change. All in all, it was already an improvement for Harry, and he hadn't even been inside.

Remus led him up the driveway, jogging so as to get out of the wet sooner and out of public view, though most people would not be looking outside anyway. Unlocking the door with a key and tap of his wand, Remus opened the dark wood door and held it open for Harry. Immediately as he stepped in, Harry was swamped by a soothing warm he'd only known during his visits to the Burrow, and on his returns to the Gryffindor common room after a particularly disappointing day.

"Well," said Remus, "Home sweet home." Harry grinned as he took in the house's appearance. The walls were a nice cream color, with dark wood borders on the bottom and top of the walls. In the entrance hall, oak flooring was polished and smooth. A stairwell was to the left, and a hallway to the right. If he made a u-turn to the left from where he was standing, there was a large room, with one wall made entirely of an enormous mirror. It was furnished with squishy, dark red couches and a mahogany coffee table, chessboard, and end table. Through that room, which was the living room, another hallway led to the dining room. There was a simple, square table,big enough for four people, and a lamp hung over it, while a window allowed a view of the storm outside.

From the dining room led an entryway to the kitchen, with white tiled flooring, a large refrigerator, a stove, oven, microwave, cupboards, and other cooking supplies. To the right of the fridge was another entryway, leading three ways. One led to a bathroom, the one to the right led to the entrance way again, and the one straight ahead led to the parlor room. The parlor room was blue-themed, with a white trim and several paintings on the walls, namely of scenery that was very soothing to Harry. A large brick fireplace commanded the left wall, while a sliding glass door took over the right, leading to the backyard porch.

Remus led Harry up the stairs, to where the bedrooms, bathroom, and study were. The bedrooms were connected via the bathroom, and the study was around the corner to the right. Harry's bedroom was the one on the left of the bathroom, and he entered it with his trunk floating behind him. It was slightly bigger than his bedroom at the Dursleys, and much more welcoming. Remus had already gotten him a bed, dresser, desk, bookcase, and a perch for Hedwig, which was next to the window. The carpet was a light blue, and the walls were white, the smell of fresh paint was still hanging faintly in the air.

"What do you think?" Remus asked as Harry looked around.

Harry turned around and smiled, "It's great Remus, thank you."

Remus smiled back. "No trouble, Harry, no trouble at all. After you unpack, how about some lunch?"

Harry nodded in agreement and began to remove his things from his trunk, and let Hedwig out, setting her cage next to the perch. Harry mentally used the incantations needed to put his things away, something he had been working on since early that morning. Although it reminded him of Snape, Harry did his best to keep his thoughts off the former head of Slytherin house.

His robes he hung up in the closet, while he packed his muggle clothes in the dresser. His schoolbooks went into the bookcase, and his school writing supplies in one of the drawers in the desk. Since he didn't know what to do with his potions equipment, Harry just set it aside for now, planning to ask Remus later. This took him about forty-five minutes, since it was harder and more time-consuming to silently spell everything. But instead of disappointing him, it only served to urge Harry to practice it more often, now that he was legally allowed.

Looking around at his room, Harry smiled. For the first time since that fateful Halloween, he had a home.

* * *

_**Author's Notes:**_

_So, what do you think of the first chapter? I know it's not terribly exciting, but I do appreciate you taking your time to read it anyway, and I would like to hear your opinions. Although the main action bits might not be starting until maybe chapter four or five, I hope you'll stay with me that long. Also, I believe I should tell you know that this story is not going to be a year-long story. It is going to take Harry **several** years to recover and destroy all the horcruxes. Unlike in my other story, he doesn't have anyone to teach him about horcruxes or ancient magic, he's got to learn it all on his own. Even so, the years might pass faster than you might, or might not, be thinking. I don't want the story to drag, you see.  
__I'm hoping to get things accurate in this story, so I'll be doing a lot of research for the places I'm planning forHarry to visit in his quest. So, if I miss anything or make an error, please, I ask you now, **let me know!** I want this fic to be accurate, enjoyable, and satisfactory. Thank you, once again, for taking the time to read this.  
Sincerely, A .S .Leif _


	2. Settling In

**Review Responses:**

**To All**: _thank you for catching my major error, Harry is indeed SEVENteen, not sixteen. Sorry about that, it is fixed now._

**SeekerTLK:** _Personally, I do not believe Snape to be evil, and I'm hoping to put some of that opinion into the story. How late or how early, I am not sure. I also agree with you on Dumbledore's reasoning, though I suppose there are a few other factors I think about. As to your final point, I suppose you're right. I'm not sure yet whether or not I am going to have Harry see the Dursleys again, and perhaps it might be a bit more emotional, for him anyway, it's hard to see the Dursleys getting all upset about him leaving, if you know what I mean_

**Dark Wolf of Teros:**_ Ron and Hermione will come into the picture, don't worry. I just didn't think they were coming with him to Privet Drive. On his journey, yes, but not to his relatives. Of course, I could be wrong.

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**Chapter 2: Settling In**

Harry walked down the stairs, finding his way to the kitchen, where Remus was waiting, or rather, working on lunch. "About time you came down here," the older wizard teased as he cut a melon.

Harry chuckled, "Want some help?"

"Sure." He waved his free hand at the refrigerator, "There're some things for sandwiches in there, I think there's a bit of everything, so take what you like."

Harry nodded and pulled on the handle of the fridge, and a small wave of cool air brushed his face. He then pulled out the vegetable drawer and got out a head of lettuce and a tomato. As he went for the jar of mustard, his eye was caught by a carton of drinks. "Butterbeer?" he said in surprise.

Remus looked over his shoulder and chuckled. "Yes, butterbeer. It's not limited to only the Three Broomsticks you know."

"But where can you _buy_ it?" Harry asked, getting out the rest of the supplies. "I mean, it's not something that they sell in a muggle supermarket."

"True, but it's not a muggle drink, now is it?" he replied. "There are some other small... shopping centers I guess you could call them, for wizards and witches in London. However, they're run more by chain companies, and aren't as big as Diagon Alley." He laughed. "I mean, if you think about it, where do all the other wizarding families who don't know a thing about muggles go to shop!"

Harry laughed, picturing Mr. Weasley in a muggle grocery store. Though the man was family to Harry, it was still an amusing image. It also made sense though, what Remus had said. After all, all the magical population couldn't be living just in London, there were other parts of Britain as well that weren't all muggle.

He shook his head, amused at how much he did not know of the wizarding world. _And they think I'm supposed to save it?_ He thought withgrim humor, setting the sandwich supplies on the counter and unwrapped the bread. "So, what do you want on yours?" he asked Remus, who had moved on to getting out dishes.

"Turkey, Swiss, lettuce, and mustard." Remus replied promptly. "No mayonnaise."

Harry raised an eyebrow. "You don't like it?"

He shuddered. "Hate it."

"How come?"

"Do know what's in that stuff?"

Harry swallowed. "Do I want to know?" Remus laughed, setting the plates down. He did not tell Harry his opinion of what he thought the ingredients were, and for that the younger wizard was grateful. Once the sandwiches were made, they sat down and ate in companionable silence. As they were putting the dishes in the sink, Harry's curiosity was aroused by a picture near the coffee maker. "Is that you?" he asked, pointing.

Remus looked and smiled. "Yes, when I was eleven with my father and step-mother."

"Did your parents get divorced?" he asked, a bit more quietly.

Remus sighed. "No. Originally, my father had married a witch, but she died of dragon pox shortly before I was bitten. A few years later, he married my step-mother. She was a muggle, but her brother was a wizard. Still," he chuckled, "She liked things done the 'old fashioned way'."

Harry smiled, "So no magical help with chores, huh?"

Remus laughed. "Never." From there, their talk ranged from chores to annoyances with relatives. After finishing their talk by laughing themselves breathless at a tale of Remus' cousin fleeing from an enraged duck, Remus showed Harry the way to the basement and attic. Ironically enough, both were reached via the same stairwell. In the closet in the study upstairs, there was a door that led to a small platform with a spiral stairwell going both up and down. He led Harry up first, and after eleven steps, they reached the attic.

It was pretty big for an attic, and Harry couldn't help but grin at the decor. Up here was all Gryffindor red and gold, from the carpet to the ceiling. There were posters of Quidditch teams hung on the walls, and a bookcase full of magazines and what looked like photo albums. There was plenty of lighting from the windows high up on the walls, as well as the lamps that hung from the ceiling. Comfortable armchairs sat in a circle around a coffee table, on which a miniature Quidditch pitch was set up. A record player sat on an end table near the bookcase, and a few boxes were stacked up in the opposite corner.

"What is this place?" Harry asked, gazing at everything.

"A reconstructed hideout," Remus said, quietly, with a smile in his eyes as he remembered. "At James' house, they had an extra room that we turned into a clubhouse of sorts for the Marauders. It was here that we invented pranks, talked, and basically just hung out together. The miniature Quidditch pitch was James', since he became team captain in our fifth year, the record player was mine, and the prank-logs were Sirius'. We all brought in a poster of our favorite teams."

Harry walked over to one of the walls that had two posters. "Those were Sirius', he'd always liked the Falmouth Falcons, since they had famous beaters." Harry moved to the next wall, and looked at those while Remus explained whose they'd been. "The Kenmare Kestrels were my favorites, since my cousin had been sponsored by them for his tuition to the University in Ireland. The Wigtown Wanderers were Peter's favorite."

"Why is there a... a meat cleaver on their robes?" Harry asked, confused.

Remus chuckled. "The team was founded by a family, and their father was always at the matches, waving a meat cleaver." Harry smiled and went to the last two posters. Remus sighed, "Those were James'. He liked the Harpies because they only hired witches, good-looking ones too. But his real favorites were the Montrose Magpies; they've had a lot of good seekers."

Harry shook his head at his father's liking for the Harpies because of their looks. Though he himself admitted they were pretty, he also found his thoughts drifting back to Ginny."What kind of magazines did you guys read?" he asked, pulling himself away from thoughts and posters.

Remus waved him over to the bookcase, "Come and see."

Harry walked over and read the titles. "They have _Quidditch_ magazines?"

He laughed. "Naturally, there's not just the _Quibbler_ and the _Prophet_ you know."

Harry smiled and read the rest of the titles. "_Prankster Perfect_, _Tactics for Teams_, _The Notecaster, Music Today_... wow, there's a lot of them." It was a fair, but unnecessary statement, since six of the long shelves were filled with the magazines.

Remus chuckled. "Well, six years worth of magazines, we kept every single one of them. Of course, Lily made James give his share up when they got engaged, she said he was too much of a pack rat. Of course, he wouldn't throw them away, no more than he'd throw away our Marauder Volumes." He pulled out a thick photo album and dusted off the cover before handing it to Harry.

Opening it, Harry saw that it was filled with pictures of the Marauders, from the train on Hogwarts to Christmas of their first year. "You guys took a lot of pictures," he said, flipping through the thick pages.

"Actually, only some of those early ones are real pictures. The others came from memories. We put them in a penesive at first, and then got pieces of them on their own, Lily and myself did some, if I do say so myself, pretty impressive charm work to turn them into pictures. Now, come on, you still have to see the basement, and then you can look around more."

So Harry closed the album and put it back on the shelf, a shiver going through his spine as he realized that his father had helped put together these things, that they'd been his. Being in this room reminded him of when he'd opened his Christmas present in first year and had found the invisibility cloak, of the feeling he'd gotten when first putting it on...

"Coming?" Remus' voice jerked him out of his thoughts and Harry hurried after him. They climbed down the stairwell and arrived in a slightly darker room. Its walls were stone, but the floor was wood. There was a small potions lab of sorts in one corner of the room, a cabinet a little ways away, a sink, and a dueling platform on the opposite side of the room.

"I think this room explains itself," Remus said with an easy smile.

Harry nodded. "Yeah, it does. Do you think I could put my potions stuff in here?"

"Of course, I don't think a cauldron makes a good decoration piece."

Harry chuckled, "I think I'd have to agree."

"So, now with the grand tour over, it's time to talk." He motioned for Harry to follow him and they went back to the attic, seating themselves in opposite chairs. "You were a little vague in your letters," Remus said, looking at Harry seriously. "But I believe I got the part that you're not returning to Hogwarts." Harry nodded. "Do you mind if I ask why?"

"Nope," Harry replied.

"Then why? Won't Ron and Hermione be upset? I know Molly would be as well, if what she thought of Fred and George leaving is any indication."

Harry swallowed the lump in his throat, his explanation would bring up Dumbledore's death, and that was still a painful ache in his soul that reminded him how the old wizard had always stood by him, from being thought of as the Heir of Slytherin, to standing against the slander of the _Daily Prophet._ "School isn't the only place you can learn, Remus," he said, staring past the wizard's shoulder and out the window. The storm still raged, and now it gave Harry comfort, to see that his soul was not the only chaotic thing out there. "But the war is everywhere. With Dumbledore gone, people are loosing faith in our chances of winning. The war needs to end, and I know how to weaken Voldemort.

"When Dumbledore was giving me lessons last year, they were lessons about Tom Riddle, the boy and man who eventually became Lord Voldemort. We found out how he's made himself 'immortal', and I believe it's also why he's so cruel. He used horcruxes, Remus. He killed people and tore his soul into pieces, and each piece he preserved in something, an object, most likely an artifact related to the Founders of Hogwarts. Dumbledore was looking for them, there were most likely six. Do you remember the diary from my second year?"

"Yes," Remus replied, "Dumbledore had told the story to Padfoot and I."

"Well, it was one of the horcruxes. He'd started making them when he was still in school! There was another, a ring from his mother's side; Dumbledore found and destroyed that. He found another horcruxe as well, Remus, it was a locket of Salazar Slytherin. He took me with him, and in order to get it..." A cold feeling swept over Harry as he remembered the pained moans Dumbledore had emitted as he drank the dark liquid, the desperate attempts he made to save someone from his memories. Harry was lost in the memory itself as he remembered the cold water he had scooped up in the crystal goblet, and the locket they had gotten. It had been a replacement...

"Harry? Harry, are you alright?"

Harry's eyes snapped back to Remus' face and his mind to reality. "Yeah, I—I'm fine, I was just remembering the place where we found it." He cleared his throat, to cover a shiver as well as get past the lump in it. "Anyway, the locket was a fake. Someone else had destroyed the horcruxe first. But Dumbledore didn't know that, he never got a chance..."

There was a moment of silence as the two men remembered Albus' murder, as they remembered the attack on Hogwarts. "Go on," Remus said softly.

Harry took a breath and nodded. "I need to find the other horcruxes and destroy them. And I can't learn about them in school, they're took dark to be found even in the restricted section. I need to go out and find them, but I need to learn _how _to find them. That's another thing I can't learn in school. Ron and Hermione...they said they would come with me, but I don't want them to be in more danger."

"They will be in danger wherever they go, Harry." Remus said gently. "That's what war is. And if they learn what you learn, I can sense already that they will be safer."

Harry then thought about Ginny. "Will Hogwarts still be as safe as it was?" he asked.

"I don't know," he sighed, "only time will tell."

_But time is running out,_ Harry thought.

* * *

_Authors Notes:_

_Thank you again, as always, for reading. But now I have a question, how soon do you think Harry should beginresearching/searching? I have an idea, but I want to make sure it's in a good amount of time for you, my dear readers. Reviews are appreciated, and I wish you all luck on your own writing. A. S. Leif_


	3. Do Dont

**Review Responses:**

**To my dear reviewers in general: **_Thank you for giving me your opinions about when Harry should begin searching, and I must say I agree with you. Even if you weren't sure when Harry should begin, I thank you anyway._

**karenS: **_I hadn't thought of that, you might be right. I'll try looking for it in HBP._

**Shoia: **_I am sorry to say that I don't have an official updating schedule planned. Unlike my previous stories, I haven't written the story in advance, so I'm coming up with chapters and plots as I go. I'm thinking that they will stay this length, but there might be an unusually long chapter every now and then._

**1stkitty: **_Thank you very much for your idea, I might use it, though I also might change it a little bit. But whatever I do, I'll make sure to let you know in the R-R section before the chapter.

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_

**Chapter Three: Do--Don't**

Harry was contemplating when and where to begin his search for Voldemort's horcruxes in the Marauders' Den when his pondering was interrupted by a knock on the door. He looked up as it opened and smiled when he saw Remus, followed by his two best friends, Ron and Hermione.

"Hey mate," Ron greeted with a smile, "How's it like not being at the Dursleys?"

Harry chuckled. "It's only been two days, but it's good. How are you two doing?"

"Alright," Hermione said softly.

"Not too bad," said Ron, "The house's been overflowing with people, relatives mainly, they're all trying to get information about Bill's and Fleur's wedding."

Harry smiled, imagining the Burrow swarming with red-heads. "Do you know the date yet?"

Ron answered, "Yeah, it's in a week."

_So I'll have a week to plan,_ thought Harry, rubbing the arm of his chair.

"I'll leave you three alone for a bit," Remus said, glancing back at the stairs.

Ron and Hermione hid grins, confusing Harry slightly, but he answered. "Alright." When Remus had left and his footsteps had faded, Harry asked, "What's so funny?"

"Tonks is waiting for him downstairs," Hermione said with a slight giggle.

Catching on, Harry laughed. "Well, come on, have a seat."

The two sat next to each other on the couch across from Harry. "This place is pretty cool," Ron said, looking around, "But it needs a poster of the Cannons."

Hermione rolled her eyes, muttering "Boys and Quidditch." However, Ron didn't hear. "You know that we're coming with you still, right?" she then said earnestly, looking at Harry. "Even though you said we shouldn't bother coming over to your relatives'."

Harry nodded. "I know, but are you sure you want to? Are you sure you want to give up school?"

Ron nodded, looking a little downcast. "It won't be the same without..." he swallowed. "Without him."

Hermione bit her lip. "I agree, it just wouldn't feel right, not seeing him up there everyday, I don't think I could ever learn there again. Besides, learning isn't...isn't as important as...as finishing this."

Harry knew that it had taken Hermione a lot to say that, and it made him feel slightly less like he was forcing them into a dangerous situation. "Do you guys know if the Order is still...active?"

Ron's face was solemn. "They're trying to keep it together, but a lot of people aren't attending the meetings, which're being held at our house now. There's a board in charge instead of just one person. My dad, Mad-Eye, McGonagall, and Remus are on it. There's talk about trying to find a new spy, but...it's not really working out. Everyone seemed to kinda loose their energy when...when he died."

Harry nodded, understanding that, without Dumbledore, a lot of things would never be the same. "We'll just have to get them a reason to get their energy back then," he said firmly.

Hermione smiled slightly, "Yes, we will. Have you talked to Ginny about what you're going to do?"

Ron became suddenly interested in the magazine shelves in the corner and got up, picking one out and flipping through the pages; apparently he still wasn't quite used to Harry going out with his little sister.

"Not really," Harry answered, "I mean, I told her that we couldn't really go out with each other, since Voldemort uses people I care for against me." He looked meaningfully at Hermione and Ron.

"We're still coming with you," she said immediately. "Go on."

He nodded, appreciating further the loyalty and care his friends had towards him. "She seemed to understand, but I don't think she'd understand why I want her to stay here, rather than traveling around with me."

"Why do you want her to?" Hermione asked. "Wouldn't you want her with you, so you can see that she's safe? Rather than wondering if she's alright?"

Harry squirmed in his seat. Why did Hermione always have to make so much sense? "I guess... but I might be bringing her into danger too."

She sighed. "She knows that Harry, and if I know Ginny, she'll find a way to be with you, danger or no."

Harry rapidly thought of a way to get off the subject, he didn't want to make that decision right now. "Do you have any idea where information on Horcruxes might be?"

Thankfully, his idea worked. Hermione thought for a moment, then launched off into a miniature history lecture, full of the names of places, libraries, people, and other such things that Harry didn't know. After about ten minutes of the torturous babble, Harry and Ron were saved by Remus coming back in.

"Care for some lunch?" he asked.

"Yes!" Ron and Harry shouted. Hermione didn't see why they were so excited.

* * *

Ron and Hermione left about an hour after lunch along with Tonks, leaving Harry and Remus alone to talk. Once again they went up to the Marauders' Den, where they pulled out some of the old 'prank-logs' Sirius had kept. Harry was surprised by his father's and Sirius' creativity, and Remus' talent for making the pranks work. They went through three albums, and Harry had begun to feel sorry for Lecktor Smit, the Astronomy professor that the Marauders had formedan enmity towards. They'd pulled the most pranks on him, followed by Lucius Malfoy and his cronies, and Severus Snape. During the Snape pranks, Harry was torn. He wanted to laugh at the murderer's humiliation, but he couldn't; he remembered that, back then, Snape was no murderer, not even a Death Eater yet. So, instead, Harry just skipped those pictures.

After looking and talking about the logs, they moved on to another album that Remus had made. It was called the 'Date Log'. The pictures and descriptions in it were solely dedicated to Prongs' many attempts to get Lily to go out with him. Harry then realized where his lack of tact with girls had come from, along with his tendency to try and flatten his hair when nervously speaking with one.

However, James turned out to be a lot showier than Harry was, and was hopeless when it came to Lily. The log also had letters and poems James had written to Lily, but never sent. The poems were so horrible, it made Harry and Remus cry tears of laughter. The letters were sappy, and had sarcastic comments written in the margins by Sirius, followed by angry responses by James.

It was time for dinner by the time they stopped looking at the various logs and Harry's abs were hurting from laughing so much; he doubted he'd ever laughed so much in his life at one time. They went down the stairs and to the kitchen, where dinner was begun.

* * *

A knock on the door roused Harry from sleep. He rolled over on his bed, rubbing at his face to help dispel the sleepiness. "Yeeaaahh?" he yawned, and the door opened.

Remus came in, looking much too awake for Harry's taste. "How late did you stay up last night?" he asked in an amused tone.

Harry lazily scratched his head, thinking back. He'd spent quite a few hours going through his old school books, reviewing spells and practicing them a bit. He'd then taken a look in his history book, hoping to find some information on the things Hermione had mentioned. Ultimately, he'd found nothing and had ended up falling asleep. "Umm... I dunno." He answered, "Why?"

Moony said, "It's almost time for lunch."

Harry yelped, jumping out of bed. "Lunch?" he exclaimed in surprise; he'd never slept that late in the Dursleys. _Aunt Petunia always woke me up early, _he then thought. "Sorry about that."

"Not a problem; it's not like I have anything crucially important to do. But I was wondering if you wanted to go get some clothes."

Harry blinked. "Huh?"

Remus motioned to Harry's dresser. "I saw your things, they look worse than mine," he said with a half smile, "And you've only your school robes. I'm not good at removing embroidery, and I doubt you want to wear them in public."

Harry scratched his head again, "Umm, alright. Under one condition."

He raised an eyebrow. "What's that?"

"You get new clothes too."

"I don't need them."

"Yes you do."

"No I don't."

"Do."

"Don't."

"Do."

"Don't."

"Don't."

"Do."

Harry smirked triumphantly, causing Remus to roll his eyes. "Fine, you win. Merlin, you can be worse than your mother like that."

Harry grinned. "I remember Slughorn saying that he thought my mum should've been in Slytherin."

Remus nodded. "She was a clever witch, but it put her in Gryffindor over Slytherin because of her heritage."

"So the Hat is prejudiced too, huh?" Harry growled.

"No, no, not at all!" Remus amended. "It's just that Slytherin wasn't a very safe house for muggle-borns at that time." Harry relaxed, and Remus went back to the original subject. "So, would you like to go after lunch? Or eat out?"

He rubbed his nose. "After lunch, maybe then I'll be more awake." Remus laughed.

* * *

Harry was indeed more awake after he'd dressed and eaten. When the dishes were cleaned, Remus apperated them both to Diagon Alley, which wasn't swarming with people as Harry was used to. He knew thatthe reason was fear, fear that Voldemort or his followers would appear at any moment.

They made their way to Gringotts, where they took a rapid ride down to Harry's vault, which had gotten much fuller due to his inheritance from Sirius. To his surprise, there were other things in there as well, and the vault had magically increased in size. Furniture, books, and chests were in there as well as various brooms and Quidditch supplies. "James and Lily had a lot of their things transferred to their vault when they went into hiding," Remus explained when Harry asked once they were back on ground level.

They walked out of the marble white building, making their way down the alley. The store keepers were not unaffected by the sense of paranoia that had settled on the magical world. Madam Malkin was not her usual cheerful self; in fact, she was very downcast as she measured Remus and Harry. Harry stood in silence as the tape measure whizzed around him, feeling oppressed by the saddened atmosphere of the store. Remus and Harry only spoke when she asked them what color and style of robes they wanted. Quickly they made their choices, shrinking the bags they'd been placed in until they could carry them in their pockets.

"How about we go to muggle London for the rest of the stuff?" Harry suggested.

Remus nodded, "Sounds like a good idea, hopefully it will be a lot more cheerful around there." Moony then apperated them once more, this time to an alley behind a restaurant, where they casually strolled out of, unnoticed by the other pedestrians.

Harry's feelings lifted immediately, a sense of excitement growing in him, since he'd only been out shopping once with Aunt Petunia for his glasses, and that had been when he was too young to remember it much. He was a little embarrassed when he told Remus that he didn't know where to go, but thankfully the werewolf knew London very well, and was able to tell Harry stories of James' helplessness when it came to navigating muggle cities and stores, causing the younger wizard to feel much better about himself.

They went to about three stores, one for shoes, another for clothes, and a third just for the heck of it. Harry and Remus ended up shrinking several more bags before they considered themselves done. "Mind if we backtrack a bit?" Remus asked, "I need to pick up some ingredients at the Apothecary."

"Sure," Harry replied. And as he agreed, he realized something. He would have to backtrack in order to move forward in his search for the horcruxes.

That meant he had to go see Dumbledore.

* * *

_A/N: My apologies for the lack of interesting material for you to read, I hope the next chapter will more than make up for it. Again, I would appreciate questions, comments, or anything of the reviewing nature, and again I thank you for reading. -A. S. Leif_


	4. The Order of the Phoenix

**Review Responses:**

**CrystalBlue: **_I hope this chapter clears things up a bit for you._

**Shoia: **_I might end up making them animagi, though the question is how, if it takes years to do it that would work, but having it take a short time might be more useful; however, the question remains is **how**. I'll think about including the DoM team in this story, though they probably wouldn't be together all the time. If you keep a group of stressed teenagers together too long, things could get ugly; actually, that might not be so horrible. -grin-

* * *

_

**Chapter 4: The Order of the Phoenix**

Harry spent the next several days corresponding to his friends while reading some of the books Remus already had on the dark arts, and practicing a few of the spells. He received congratulations from Hermione on his increased amount of studying, and friendly letters from Ron, Ginny and, to his slight surprise, Neville and Luna. Luna's message had been delivered by a rather fluffy and odd-looking grey owl, whose eyes were as round and as dreamy as his owners. Once Harry had removed the letter, the owl lazily took off out the window, flying in circles before deciding on a direction. The message itself had been just as odd, though the tone was unmistakably Luna's. She asked him about his summer so far, told him about hers, and how her and her father had tried tracking down one of the Fur Ghouls that was haunting the nearby muggle grocery store.

The letter caused Harry to laugh, and he read it a couple more times before placing it in a box with the rest of his letters. Neville's also asked Harry how he was doing, if the DA was going to be started up, and how he felt about a new Headmistress. Feeling a pang in his chest, Harry quickly skipped that part when writing his response and sending it off with the tawny owl that had delivered Neville's letter. The letters from Ginny and Ron were both delivered by Errol, whom Harry allowed to stay for the night in order to recover. He shook his head, thinking that the elderly and impaired owl ought to be given a retirement.

It was as Harry was waiting beside his window with a book in his lap that he wasn't reading, that he realized he was delaying. He didn't want to see Dumbledore, it would only bring back painful memories of all the times he'd spoken with the Headmaster, how Harry hadn't been able to help him, about how many people had died for him, Harry. But he knew he had to, who else knew enough about horcruxes to help him begin his search?

With a resigned sigh, Harry shut his window and set down the book. Getting to his feet, he walked over to the door and opened it, to be met by Remus, whose hand was raised to knock. "Aren't I supposed to be the one with good hearing?" he asked with a grin.

Harry smiled, "I dunno, age might be getting to you." Remus scowled for a moment before they both started to laugh. They'd gotten more relaxed around each other now, much like Harry had been relaxed with Sirius, and often teased each other for no real reason at all. "But actually," he began, while Remus began the same.

"You go first," Remus said with a smile.

Harry replied, "No, you go."

"Alright. There's an Order meeting today, and I was planning to go; Hermione and Ron might be there, so I thought youwould like to come."

Harry swallowed a lump in his throat; go to the place that reminded him of both Sirius' and Dumbledore's deaths? He heard himself answer, "Sure, when do we go?"

Remus looked at his watch and said, "Well...the meeting is in about five minutes, so now would be a good time." Harry chuckled, and followed Remus downstairs. The older wizard went downstairs to the fireplace and took a pinch of Floo powder from the dish that held it. Tossing it into the fire he said, "Hogwarts."

Harry blinked in surprise as Remus stepped into the green flames and disappeared. _Hogwarts_? When had Headquarters been moved there? _Grimmauld Place wasn't used last year,_ Harry reminded himself, _so now it's at the safest place..._ His throat dried as he thought that; it had only been truly safe because of Dumbledore... Shaking his head, Harry took some powder and tossed it in, repeating the location before stepping in.

Harry was jerked out into the familiar, circular office of the Headmaster of Hogwarts. _Headmistress,_ he thought to himself, remembering McGonagall. "Harry!"

Hearing his name called, Harry turned his head and saw Hermione smiling at him. "Hey Hermione," he said in reply, returning the smile.

"Hey mate," Ron greeted, stepping through the door.

"Hiya Ron," he said, feeling his heart lighten at seeing his friends still safe. There were others in the office as well, all members of the Order. There was Kingsley, Mad-Eye, the Weasleys (all save Percy), Dedalus Diggle, several professors from Hogwarts, and also several new members that Harry didn't recognize. As Harry sat down next to Remus, he saw the portrait of Albus Dumbledore hanging among the others, a dish of lemon drops sat next to him on top a small end table. His blues eyes twinkled merrily as he spotted the young wizard looking at him, and he gave Harry a smile.

Harry just stared back, feeling the loss of Dumbledore lighten. Part of him was still here to help Harry after all...

"Thank you all for coming," McGonagall's voice broke through Harry's thoughts, and he focused his attention on the new Headmistress. "Before we begin the meeting, I would like to introduce a few of our new members. From left to right: Hilda Fylt, Jason Graz, Ophelia Lightstone, and Derikanlaf-" she stumbled slightly on the last name.

The wizard to whom it belonged, a copper-skinned fellow who had to be at least half a foot over six feet with blue eyes and black hair smiled. "Derikanlafaej'orine Draculiona'han." He said kindly, "Derik for short." There were a few chuckles from the other members. Harry smiled slightly and looked at the other new arrivals. Hilda Fylt was blonde, with a slim, flexible frame. Despite the fact that she was only two feet taller than Flitwick, she had a firm gaze that told anyone who looked not to take her lightly. Jason Graz wasn't as tall as Derik, but seemed taller, due to his muscular build. His skin was dark, like Kingsley's, and his chocolate brown eyes were cheerful; his hair was a fine black fuzz over his skull, and he was dressed in muggle clothes. Ophelia Lightstone was the palest of the lot, and the oldest. However, even though her long curly hair was now white, and her skin was wrinkled, Harry could tell that this was not one of the kindly-grandmother types.

"Thank you," McGonagall said to Derik for the clarification of his name. "Now, because the situation regarding Voldemort-" a few people flinched still, "has declined towards his favor, we need to form new strategies; ours are not working. To put it lightly, the death toll of muggle citizens is becoming too many." The members nodded in agreement, but Harry did not; he didn't need to show his approval of a fact, he needed to _do_ something about the fact.

There were a few suggestions offered, the new members having the more creative ideas, and the older pointing out the pitfalls that could occur as well as the helpful reactions. Harry did not say anything, more focused on thinking about how he could both help the Order in their attempts to keep things in—if you'll excuse the pun—order, as well as search and destroy the horcruxes.

Dumbledore's portrait also listened to the meeting, offering odd remarks for every idea he added. After about an hour of talking, the Order Board called the meeting to a close, and Harry had to keep himself from shaking his head; all they'd done was talk, reject ideas, and decide to increase the patrols in Diagon Alley. _They need to find the problem at its source,_ he thought to himself, _they need to flush out the contacts the Death Eaters use, check out the darker areas, like Knockturn Alley, not just try to guard everything. _He blinked; _maybe I could do it while I search? But will I have time?_

A familiar, comforting voice broke through Harry's thoughts as he stood to follow Remus. "Harry? May I have a word?"

He looked up, and saw Dumbledore smiling at him. He swallowed, _I **did **want to talk to him..._ he thought, and answered, "Yeah."

"I'll wait outside," Remus said, clapping Harry on the shoulder before leaving through the door. Even McGonagall left, smiling slightly at the former Headmaster and Harry. The young wizard positioned himself in easy view of Dumbledore's portrait, sitting on the edge of an armchair.

"How have you been Harry?" Dumbledore asked gently.

He licked his lips. "Alright, Sir."

"I am glad to hear it," the portrait said, "However, you seem to have a great discomfort on your shoulders. What do you think of the Order?"

"It's... it's doing the best it can, I s'pose." Harry answered.

"But you do not believe it will be enough?"

He shook his head, glancing at his shoes. "No..."

"I thought much the same thing."

Harry looked up in surprise. "Sir?"

Dumbledore sighed. "Things will be much more difficult for the Order, Harry. But you must not loose faith, nor hope, and you must avoid anger and hate at all costs." Harry's brow creased in irritation; _not_ hate Snape for what he did? Dumbledore smiled sadly, "I see you know what I mean."

"I can't not hate him, Sir." Harry growled furiously. "He doesn't deserve to live."

"Such thoughts do not become your spirit Harry," Dumbledore said sadly, "But I have a quest for you."

"What is it?"

"I want you to learn all you can, about horcruxes, curses, defense, Occlumency, and love. You will need all those things to survive and overcome Tom."

"But, Sir, I don't know where to learn about horcruxes or Occlumency!" Harry protested.

"I know Harry, that is why I am going to tell you about the library where I studied after I graduated from Hogwarts." His eyes were solemn. "It is located at a magical university in Bulgaria, and is not the most...respected of education centers, due to its reputation of knowing more of the dark arts than is allowed in most countries. The name of the university is 'Zotzion,' you will be able to find information on horcruxes there."

"But what about Occlumency Sir?" asked Harry, "Only you and... and _him_ could have taught me." There was no hiding the bitterness in his voice at the mention of the traitor.

Dumbledore's eyes saddened, but he answered. "I am afraid that is something you must learn on your own, and until then I cannot fully explain things to you."

"Explain things?" Harry repeated, jerking his gaze from the floor to the portrait. "What things?"

"Alas, you must learn to keep your mind your own before I can tell you."

Harry opened his mouth to reply when the door burst open. He turned to see Tonks, her face flushed as her eyes sought out Dumbledore's portrait. "We found her!" she gasped, panting for breath.

Harry blinked, _found who_? But Dumbledore seemed to understand, he smiled. "The irony of it all," he said to himself, "I assume you will go to her soon?"

Tonks nodded. "Immediately, we've already gathered a team to go."

"Who?" Harry asked, "Where?"

Tonks blinked, realizing he was there. "Cabo San Lucas, Mexico."


	5. A Sunset Visit

**Chapter 5: A Sunset Visit**

"Harry," said Dumbledore's portrait, "I suggest you go with them."

Harry blinked. "Who is it?"

"You will find out," he replied, "But it is someone whom I was looking for during the past...oh, two years or so."

"Wotcher, Harry! Let's go!" Tonks exclaimed.

Harry got up from his seat and followed the rushing Tonks out of the office after a brief farewell to the former Headmaster. Tonks put a hand on his arm, "I'll apperate us to the meeting point, alright?" Harry nodded, and closed his eyes as the pressure and darkness of apperation overwhelmed him. He took a deep breath of air as they reappeared; he came to the realization that he preferred a portkey to apperation...

Tonks hurried towards the Burrow, tripping over the occasional pebble or plant root, and Harry followed quickly after her. When they got inside, Harry saw Remus, Moody, Kingsley, Bill, and Charlie all waiting. _Why such a big group just to go find someone?_ He wondered.

"Everyone here?" barked Mad-Eye, "Good, let's go." He held out a long piece of rope, which everyone held tightly with one hand. Harry grasped it as well, his curiosity growing.

"Where are we going?" he asked Remus.

"Mexico," he replied with a faint smile, "I'll explain when we get there." Just then, Moody barked the keyword and Harry felt a sharp jerk behind his navel. The sensation, however, did not go away quickly, it fact, it felt as if he were speeding around in a painful circle for several minutes, the jerk increasing in force. With a last spin, they reappeared in an entirely different setting. Harry blinked, and swallowed, feeling his breakfast coming up.

After fighting back down, he looked at where they were: on a beach. The water was blue, the sand was warm, and the sun was setting, much to his surprise. The sky was painted with colors of orange, purple, and pink, melding together to form a masterpiece of color. There were palm trees waving slightly in the breeze, and the smell of saltwater was tangy and sharp in his nose. He stood there, gaping at the sea, and turned, looking at the city that was sprawled along the coast as well as further inland. The main lights came from the enormous hotels, and from the headlights of the few cars that were still traveling at this time. People were still at the beach, swimming in the ocean's depths as others sold things from mobile carts and stands.

"Beautiful, isn't it?" Remus' soft voice said. Harry nodded. "I never would have thought she'd come to a place like this."

Harry came out of his thoughts and asked, "Who are we coming here for?"

Remus beaconed for him to follow as the Order group began to walk towards an unkempt-looking shack. "During the first war, the Order spies didn't attend meetings, so their identities couldn't be leaked out."

"You mean he wasn't the only one?" Harry said, shocked.

Remus nodded. "There were three, but one was killed on duty by aurors who didn't know he was working for us. Snape was one; the other was a woman, also in Voldemort's service." Harry's hand clenched in instinctive anger. "Dumbledore had gotten her out of some...well, some big trouble, for lack of a brief explanation. He never really told us what it was until a little while ago, but form her character back then, it wasn't hard to guess."

"What'd she do?" Harry growled.

"I'll get to that later," he replied as they got closer, "But basically, she left after the first war ended; she disappeared. We couldn't find her at all, until now, that is."

"So you want her to spy again," Harry continued, catching on. Remus nodded, just as they reached the shack. Harry raised an eyebrow, "And this is where she lives?"

He smiled slightly, but did not answer. "Lupin," Moody growled, "You're up."

Harry looked at him in confusion. "Huh?"

"We sort of know each other," he explained, and walked forward. With a brief hesitation, he knocked on the crooked door of the shack, earning a splinter in his knuckle.

There was a long silence as the Order members waited; Remus knocked again. There was a slow, ominous creaking noise and the door opened a crack. Harry could barely make out a pale face looking out at them; the door promptly slammed shut. "As friendly as always," Kingsley remarked dryly.

Remus smiled grimly and knocked again. This time, the door did not open, but a blood red flash of light exploded from the door, knocking them over. Harry spat out sand from his mouth and glared at the door; he did not like this witch. "She always did have a rotten sense of humor," Remus sighed in aggravation, and pounded on the door again.

"Open up already!" Tonks called, brushing the sand out of her purple hair.

The door opened up a crack once more, this time wide enough for Harry to see the entire face. She was pale, had dark hair and eyes, but was actually very pretty, he was surprised to find. "I thought I made it clear that I don't want anythingto do with you," the woman said in a cold, venomous voice.

"Nice to see you too, Diega." Remus said cheerfully, though the tone was slightly forced.

She sneered. "You'll leave if you know what's good for you."

"Just let us in for a moment," he said, "and talk over a cup of tea, for old time's sake."

She glared, "Oh and such times they were." Remus smiled in replydespite the bitter tone of her voice. With an annoyed sigh, she opened the door and let them in, "And I don't drink tea," She growled, closing the door behind Tonks.

Harry looked around in the dark room. It was indeed only one room, with no lighting and barely enough room for them all to fit comfortably. The only other thing in the room besides them was a stone archway, which—with its glittering black space—reminded Harry of the veil Sirius had fallen through.

"I would say welcome if I wanted you here," Diega drawled, "But, as it is, I won't. This way." She walked over to the arch and stepped through, disappearing. They had no choice but to follow her. Harry was the second-to-last person to step through, and when he did, it felt much like a portkey, but the pull came from his shoulders, as if someone were gripping them and yanking him through. He jerked as his feet landed on solid stone, and he was surprised at his new location.

They stood in front of an enormous hacienda, with large water gardens in the front, and gardens of unknown plants at the sides; the large home was located on a cliff over the sea, with the setting sun behind it, bathing the beige-colored building in a bright light. Diega led them up the front, speaking to the servants working in the gardens as she passed in a different language Harry didn't recognize. "Spanish," Bill murmured when Harry asked.

They passed through a large pair of double doors, which were solid oak with bronze hinges and handles, into a large, open room that reminded Harry of a hotel lobby. There were large glass windows stretching from the floor to the arched ceiling, and exotic plants everywhere in their pots; some trees were indoors as well.The floor was a pale blue marble, polished to a high shine. A fountain was in the center, gently pouring water over its sides. However, even in this beautiful décor, Harry saw a darker shade of things. There were serpents carved into the columns that lined the room, their emerald eyes glinting menacingly at the newcomers. An ominous air hung about everything, laying hidden behind the comforts furnishing the home, waiting to strike it seemed, much like a serpent lay in the grass before it bit. A chill crawled up Harry's spine as they were led through the room and into another.

"A bit too _sunny_ here for you, isn't it Diega?" Remus asked with a tone of dislike Harry had never heard.

She gave him an icy smile. "What, would you prefer a moonlit cabin, my dear Remus?" She pushed open another large set of twenty-foot doors with ease, and Harry marveled at the feat; the doors were at least five inches thick, if not six. The room they entered was much darker than the other room, lit mainly by globes that glowed with a shady light. Tall bookcases were filled with volumes that reminded Harry strongly of the restricted section at Hogwarts. There were dark leather armchairs in this room, and Diega sat in one, her slim frame looking smaller yet more deadly as she looked at them with mocking sincerity.

The members of the Order sat down even though she did not offer them seats, and Harry decided that he did not care for this witch, Diega. For one thing, she seemed rude, and another, she and Remus did not get along. She raised a pale hand and a house-elf appeared. She said something to it in Spanish and it disappeared.Diega ran her dark eyes over the members, settling on Harry. "So, you are the one who caused the Dark Lord to fall." She said, her voice a low purr.

Harry tensed; only Death Eaters called Voldemort the 'Dark Lord'. "Yeah, that was me." He said, meeting her gaze squarely.

She smiled, and the hairs on the back of Harry's neck rose. "And you are the one who cause him to rise again."

"You knew he was back?" Moody growled.

She took her gaze from Harry and looked at the auror, raising an eyebrow. "Naturally, how could I not?"

"You're a Death Eater, aren't you?" Harry said icily.

Diega looked back at him. "No one has told you, have they?" she inquired softly.

"Do they have to?" he challenged, stiff with anger. Death Eaters deserved to rot in Azkaban or die, not live comfortably in a place like this.

"Harry," Remus murmured, putting a hand on his shoulder.

Then the house-elf reappeared, bearing a silver tray with drinks, which it then served to the guests and Diega. Harry did not drink, but kept his gaze on the witch seated on the opposite side of the room.

"Well," she said, "I believe so, but if they haven't, then I have nothing to discuss with you."

Harry fumed inwardly. She was treating him like a child! His grip tightened around his glass. "Stop playing around, Diega," Kinglsey sighed, "You know why we're here."

She smirked. "I do?"

"We need your services again." Charlie told her firmly.

Diega's eyes narrowed. "I do not need to serve!" she hissed, suddenly angry. "I have done my part!"

"You still have a debt to pay," Tonks told her.

Diega rose from her chair, her dark robes billowing slightly. She glared at the auror. "I have been released from my debt!"

"You released yourself!" Remus growled.

She turned her back on him, stalking over to a door. "You may leave now." She hissed, putting a hand on the doorknob.

"Albus is dead!" Remus cried.

It was as if she had been hit by a freezing hex. Diega's back went rigid, her hand tightened slightly around the doorknob. "You're lying." She said in a deadly soft voice.

"Why would I?" he retorted. "We've lost all our inner activists; we're blind to what He's doing! Believe me, we're not here for your company!"

She turned around. "Why don't you get my dear cousin to help you!" she growled. "I'm sure he would _love_ to be in the spotlight again."

"He's the one who killed him!" As Remus said this, Harry's eyes widened. This woman was Snape's _cousin_? He didn't want _anyone_ related to that traitor helping the Order!

Diega's harsh expression slipped from her face, to be replaced by one of disbelief. "He would never." She whispered.

"He did." Harry said firmly. She looked at him with venom. "I was there," he continued, "I saw him do it."

Her eyes narrowed in thought, "Tell young Mister Potter what is going on," she ordered them, "I will think about your request." With that, she exited the room, her robes billowing behind her just like her cousin's.


	6. The Prince of the Serpentine Sect

**Chapter 6: The Prince of the Serpentine Sect**

Harry looked at Remus. "I don't want her helping," he growled immediately after the door shut behind the witch.

Remus sighed, but it was Moody who answered. "We need her Potter," he said in his gruff voice, "We're just about blind to what's going on."

"She's a _Snape_." Harry growled back.

"Actually, she's a Prince." Tonks commented. Harry glared at her. "Well? It's true. Her and Snape's mothers were sisters."

"I still don't think we can trust her," Harry said stubbornly.

"You're not in the Order yet," Kingsley said calmly, "You don't know how much we are in need of information."

"So find another way!" Harry snapped.

Remus laid a hand on his arm. "Listen Harry, I can understand how you don't want anyone related to _him_ working for the Order, and I understand how you don't want someone who was a faithful follower of Voldemort working for the Order-"

"She was _faithful_ to Voldemort?" Harry snorted. "Oh _great_, at least Snape led people to believe that he was on our side!"

"She's trustworthy, Harry."Remus said.

"That's what Dumbledore said about Snape," he muttered, then asked in a louder voice, "Just how in Merlin's name did she end up serving the Order in the first place? And why doesn't she like you?" he added, looking at Remus.

"You get to explain those ones," Tonks said cheerily, leaning back in her chair when Remus looked at the others for help.

He sighed. "Alright, well, for starters, we don't like each other because..." he hesitated, "We have a sort of prejudice against each other."

Harry raised an eyebrow.

"I know," Remus added hastily, "See, she doesn't like me because I'm a werewolf. I don't like _her_ because, well, not only was she rude from the moment I met her, but she's part vampire."

Harry blinked. "What do you have against vampires?"

"My brother was bitten by a vampire and didn't survive." Remus answered quietly.

"Sorry," Harry murmured, head hanging.

Remus waved the apology away. "What's past is past. Now," he cleared his throat, "As for how she came to serve the Order...

"In the first war, Voldemort had a lot of followers, dozens more than he has right now. There were humans, vampires, werewolves, trolls, giants, dementors, minotaurs, every creature or humanoid that was looked down upon by the rest of magical society. However, he also had ranks in his followers. The lowest rank were Death Eaters, they were merely there to do the grunt work, spreading terror, spying, etcetera, he had these in plenty, from all races. The second rank was his inner circle. They were theservants who were the most devoted, who had proven themselves time and time again."

"Snape was in that circle," Moody put in, taking a drink from his flask. Harry's hand twitched in anger.

"The last circle," Remus continued, "Was what was called the Serpentine Sect. They were Voldemort's most trusted advisors, his bodyguards, his diplomats of power. They were geniuses in their fields, and also they tended to be the most ruthless or cunning of his followers; they were dedicated beyond your imagination."

Harry saw where this was going and his eyes hardened. "And let me guess, Diega was one of them." Remus nodded. "_Then why don't we just bloody ask her to lead Voldemort straight to Headquarters?" _Harry raged, "That's all the bloody good she'll do!"

"Relax kiddo," Bill said, "Let Remus finish." Harry, still not convinced, nodded for his guardian to go on.

"Now... no one really knew who were members of the Serpentine Sect, but there was a great reward from the Ministry to be given to anyone who could rightly identify one, and an even bigger one if the member was killed or captured. However, since those members rarely left Voldemort's side, people were afraid to look for them.

"Then, one day, there was an attack in Diagon Alley, led by Voldemort himself." The older Order members' eyes grew shadowed as they remembered a nightmare Harry, Charlie,and Bill did not know. Remus went on, his voice more hoarse than before."Half of the stores were burned to the ground, twenty people were killed, seven were kissed by dementors, and five went missing." Harry swallowed the lump growing in his throat. "But the aurors came in time to stop Voldemort from escaping. They tried to collapse a building on him, but there were members of the Sect there with him, and they managed to create a distraction while he left. Diega was the distraction.

"She took on all ten aurors, and the building collapsed on her. Albus was there as well, he was the one who found her trying to crawl her way from underneath the rubble. She was dying, and when she saw him, she knew she would be captured, and if that happened, all she had to look forward to was torture, imprisonment, and—if she was lucky—a quick death."

Harry's eyes widened. The Ministry _did_ that to followers of Voldemort? _They deserve it,_ he reminded himself angrily, _they all deserve it, and worse..._

"But Albus had no intention of turning her over. He misled the aurors, said that he'd seen her apperate away. Once they'd gone, he brought her to Hogwarts, even as she cursed at him and told him to stop messing around and just finish the job the building had started. She spent a week in Poppy's care, unconscious for the most part, a full Order guard watching her every minute of the day. When she was healthy enough, Albus came to see her. He made her an offer: serve as a spy for the Order, and he would make sure she was never found out as a member of the Serpentine Sect."

"What'd she do?" Harry asked.

"Laughed," said Kingsley. "Just laughed."

Remus nodded. "She did laugh; she told Albus he was crazy. However, she was convinced to accept his offer..."

"By who?"

"Severus." Harry's hands both clenched. What was Snape playing at? Pretending to help the Order, by getting another of Voldemort's followers to be a double-agent? "He didn't actually mean to convince her," Remus added as an afterthought, "It was more like he accidentally challenged her. From what we know, they'd always been rivals, ever since Snape got his letter from Hogwarts and she her letter from Durmstrang. But anyway, she used the excuse that she owed Albus a debt, and that she would repay it by spying.

"But Albus wasn't a careless man, he knew that she would do her job, but he needed to keep an eye on her too. So he had her make an Oath of Zaol."

"What's that?" Harry inquired. Remus nodded to Bill, who explained.

"It's just about the safest oath you could make. The person has to freely make it, binding their blood, soul, and magic to an agreement. Only the person who initiates it can call it off. Albus was the initiator. The Oath would keep her from betraying the Order, and if she did, well, it'd make the punishment from the Ministry seem like vacation." Harry's throat dried as his imagination ran wild with painful images.

"She made that?" he said, his voice quieter than he would've liked since his throat wasn't working right.

Remus nodded. "And she served. She and Severus made it a competition of sorts, to see who could bring the more usful and greater amount of information. They were always getting into fights when they reported to Albus."

"They came close to dueling several times too," Tonks commented, "Wands out and thinking curses too, painful ones."

Harry's brow furrowed in confusion. "But I thought no one knew who the spies were in the first war."

"No one did," Moody agreed. "Albus told us all this near the end of the war, well, most of us. Constant vigilance," he said, "Had to keep the numbers low; the more who know, the more you risk."

"Right," Remus said, "Now, after that Halloween when Voldemort fell, Albus released Diega from her Oath, and she left. Didn't say a word, just vanished, left no trace, no letters, didn't tell anyone. We've been looking for her since Voldemort came back."

Harry pondered all this. Diega had only served because she was 'convinced' by her traitor-cousin. Who was to say that she wouldn't do the same as Snape? Dumbledore had trusted Snape so much, only to be betrayed by him. If he didn't trust Diega as much as he had Snape, things would not turn out right, Harry knew it. "Will you make her take the Oath again?" he asked.

"If we can," Kingsley sighed, "We're banking on the debt she owes Dumbledore."

"But didn't she pay it?"

"Not really,"Bill answered. "She was released from the Oath, not her debt. She has to do something for _him_, not for the Order, to get released from the debt."

Harry, thinking of the debt Wormtail had to him, nodded in understanding. "So let me get this straight," he began, "This Diega Prince is _Snape's_," he spat out the name like ash, "cousin. She was a member of the Serpentine Sect, a top supporter of Voldemort. She was a spy for the Order in the first war, because Dumbledore didn't turn her in, and she was bound by an Oath. She vanished after the war ended, and it took you two years to find her after you started looking. She doesn't really like any of you, she's part vampire, and she doesn't want to spy again."

"Right," Tonks sighed.

"And never forget dearDurmstrang," a voice that sent shivers up his spine said in an aristocratic drawl.

Harry turned to look suspiciously at the former-- and hopefully once more-- spy. "What about it?"

She smiled, her unnaturally white teeth standing out. _Her canines do look a little pointed,_ Harry thought uncomfortably. "Why, I was only there for three years, Mr. Potter."

"You were expelled," he said, more as a statement than as a question.

"Indeed I was, for playing with spells they'd rather I not know," her smile widened slightly, "And that is _quite_ an accomplishment."

"Made your decision yet?" Moody barked.

She looked at him with a deadly glint in her cool black eyes. She then looked away and caressed her wand nonchalantly. In the dim lighting, her wand looked like the color of dried blood to Harry, and he wondered what the core was. _Probably a Dementor's finger bone or something,_ he thought grimly. "I will return to my services." she said coolly, "However, I need proof that it is _Albus_ who sent you to look for me."

"Easy enough," Remus said cheerily, though the friendliness did not reach his eyes. "His portrait is at Hogwarts, he wants to speak with you."

Her eyes narrowed in annoyance, as if she'd hoped that they would have no proof. _Another reason we can't trust her,_ Harry thought. Then Diega smirked, and she asked softly, "Is that what the Order has sunk to? Taking orders from a picture?" The members present glared at her, hands wrapping around their wands in unison.

She smiled, barring her teeth. "By all means, hex me; I do think I'm a bit out of practice." When none of them moved, she put a look of cruel disappointment on her face. "What a pity, I had hoped to see if perhaps the auror program had made some _advancements_ in training its recruits;" she tossed a strand of dark black hair out of her face, "Slytherin knows they were much too mediocre during the last war."

Harry was surprised at the venom Kingsley, Moody, and even Tonks looked at Diega with. He himself was raging inside, but knew he wouldn't help anything by hexing her. In all honesty, if the order members hesitated, he didn't think he would stand a chance.

"Back to the original question," Moody growled, more forcefully, "What's your decision, I daresay that the Ministry would gladly reinstate the laws concerning rewards for the turning in of Snake Slaves."

Diega's dark eyes flashed in anger, but the rest of her remained cool and aloof. Harry took note of the title that had been used to mock the Serpentine Sect for later use. "Once I have proof of the request for the calling up of my debt," she said, caressing her wand once more, "I will need a month for preparation."

"A _month!_?" Tonks cried.

An ice cold smirk from Diega silenced the woman. "Did I stutter? Or has old age reached you already?" Tonk's face went red. Diega went on. "And yes, I will need a month. The Dark Lord does not summon us, as you very well know. If I have so cunningly hidden myself from even your _amazing_'tracking skills', then most likely my...colleagues have done similar. I must find them, if I am to be welcomed back by the Dark Lord into the position I vacated upon his fall."

"What, it'll take you a whole month to find them?" Remus' tone was innocent. "Surely with your _talents_ and _kin_, you should find them quite easily."

She smiled her icy smile, while a death look lay in the back of her gaze as she replied. "But Remus, aren't wolves the ones who can call to each other? I'm sure that extends to _dogs_ as well, even ones who have..._slipped_ through the door to hear the whispers."

Remus went rigid and so did Harry. _How dare she?_ Harry thought, his hand gripping his wand with such force that he absently feared it would snap. Without a doubt, Diega knew about Sirius' death. She yawned softly, pocketing her blood-colored wand. "Well, I will have to rest before I go and see Albus, after all, daylight doesn't suit me, as you so often comment, Remus." Without another word, she smiled lethally at them all and whisked out of the room, with every single Order member glaring at her back.

But Harry had the feeling she enjoyed it.


	7. Apperation

**Review Response(s):**

**MinorMistake99: **_I'm glad that she's appearing to you as I'd hoped. Personally, I don't like Diega either, but, as you said, she is a good character, even if she isn't very...understandable, for want of a better word. Hope to hear from you again, and thank you for reviewing. _

**Sylvia Snape: **_Thank you for your idea on the vampire/werewolf enmity theory, it wasn't something I had considered, but perhaps I can put it to greater use later in the story. Also, thank you very, very much for reminding me about Emma Vance, I'd completely forgotten about her death in the sixth HP book. I fixed it in the previous chapters, but if I make a similar mistake, please, let me know. You'll get your wish the more the story progresses, I plan to put Diega into the plot more in the future (not all at the same time, I hope), and so the readers might make their own opinions and/or conclusions about her. Thank you for reviewing!_

**Archer:**_ Alex will not be in this story; all OC characters from the _Challenger of Fate_ trilogy will remain in that series, they will not appear in this one. Thank you very much for reviewing. _

This chapter will be a little longer than the previous ones due to test description. 

A. S. Leif

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**Chapter 7: Apparation**

Harry was still fuming as they waited for Diega Prince at the entrance to her house. How in Merlin's name did she know about _Sirius_ when she didn't even know about _Dumbledore_? He paced angrily in the hall, his shoes clicking somehow on the marble floor. However, he wasn't angry enough to not notice that the senior members of the Order were angry as well. Diega had insulted all of them in one way or another. Well, perhaps not Bill and Charlie as much as the aurors, Remus, and Harry, but still,it just convinced himDiega was _not_ someone Harry planned on trusting.

_Well at least I won't have to be dealing with her,_ Harry thought,_ I'll be gone, searching for information about horcruxes at that university Dumbledore mentioned. I won't have to deal with her at all. _

They'd given Diega half an hour to 'rest', and no more. She merely gave a mocking sigh and took it as a compliment. Harry had asked the Order members why such a short time and Moody had made it quite clear that they weren't risking her doing a vanishing act again. Personally, Harry still thought that they'd be better off without her, but, naturally, everyone else disagreed.

"Were any members of the Sect ever captured?" he asked absently, trying to get his mind off his anger.

"One," Kingsley answered. "And he was given up by Voldemort himself, after he was punished by him."

"Who was it?" Harry inquired.

When Remus opened his mouth to say, Moody barked, "Not here, Lupin, too many ears about." The other members shook their heads at the old auror's paranoia, but Remus obliged and did not answer.

Finally, Diega came gliding out of the front doors, the sunset casting her pale, lethally charming features in a blood red glow. _How appropriate for a part vampire,_ Harry thought bitterly. She stopped for a moment to talk with one of the gardeners who were still outside; the pale man replied and bowed before continuing his work. That done, Diega came over to her waiting escort. "Very well, let us go and see the proof of a portrait," she said in her cruel drawl. She received several glares, and merely smirked in reply. Mad-Eye brought out the piece of rope from his pocket and everyone took hold. "What are you doing?" Tonks demanded as Diega wrote a dark rune in the air with her glittering finger.

She raised an eyebrow. "Do you really think a portkey will work on my property? Surely as a tried auror you would have noticed the wards." Tonks' reddening face was hard to see in the sunset, but it showed that she hadn't noticed. "Or perhaps not," Diega commented softly, and finished the rune.

_Everything she says is an insult,_ Harry thought angrily, then gave an inner snort as he thought about Snape._I guess it must be hereditary..._

"Transport," Moody barked, and they were once again whisked away to the opposite side of the world.

They reappeared in front of Hogwarts, and found McGonagall waiting for them at the entrance stairs. For a moment, Harry had a flashback of the first time he'd come to Hogwarts, six years ago. She'd been standing there, waiting for Hagrid to deliver the first years. A fleeting smile twitched at the corner of his mouth, but it was quickly extinguished when he remembered all the changes that had occurred since then.

McGonagall watched them come up the stairs, or rather, she watched Diega come up. In the new Headmistress' eyes was a spark of contempt, yet her features remained politely blank. Harry got the feeling that no one really like Diega. _A good thing too, _he thought, _she won't be trusted so easily._ _She'd better know that..._

"Albus is waiting for you in my office," McGonagall told the newly-recruited spy.

Diega smiled. "What has the world come to?" she asked softly, "When objects are thought of as people?" Once again, the others made for their wands, and once again she accepted the thought of a challenge with her icy smirk.

"Come," McGonagall ordered briskly, and led Diega through the doors.

"I hate that woman," Tonks muttered as the doors shut.

"You're not alone on that one," Harry replied.

"Well Harry," Remus sighed, "I think it's about time for lunch; care to join me?"

"Yeah," Harry replied, thinking, _I don't want to be within a mile of Diega..._ So they bid the others good-bye and returned to their house in London, where they ate their meal in relative silence. "Hey Remus," Harry began as they cleaned their plates.

"Yes?"

"Do you know where I can test for an Apperation License?"

"At the Transportation Department in the Ministry," he replied, "Have you ever apperated before?"

Harry nodded. "Yeah, we had a class on it last year. Hermione and Ron got to take the test there, since they'd already turned seventeen."

"How'd they do?"

"Hermione passed, but Ron didn't, because his examiner noticed that he'd left behind his eyebrow."

Remus chuckled. "You know, I think James did the same thing." He smiled. "He was furious about it for weeks, not that Sirius was helping, mind, since he kept teasing that he'd gotten it right."

Harry grinned. "How did you do?"

"Oh, alright, I suppose." He said evasively. "Practice makes perfect, after all.

"How many times did you take the test?"

"Er... a couple."

"How many?" Harry prodded, his teasing voice having an innocent tone to it. Remus muttered something inaudible. "What was that?"

"Five times," Remus repeated, looking at his wet plate as a blush crept up onto his face. Harry laughed. "Well wait until _you_ take it!" Remus said defensively. "Let's see how long it takes _you_!" But nothing he said could stop Harry's amusement.

They went to the Ministry later that afternoon. It was plain to anyone with half an eye that security had been increased. There were aurors at each entrance to each hall; there were more detailed wand-checks as well as screenings of visitors for any dangerous items or curses on their person. After fifteen minutes, they reached the Transportation Department and found the person in charge of apperation sign-ups. It was a young witch on duty, and she looked rather bored, absently curling a lock of her blonde hair around a finger.

"Hello, I'm here to sign up for an apperation test." Harry said after flattening his fringe of hair.

The witch looked up, gave an automated smile and pulled out a logbook. There were no other appointments listed, but she asked. "Name?"

"Harry Potter," he replied.

Her eyes widened and she looked immediately at his forehead. Harry felt annoyed as she stared. Remus coughed meaningfully and she snapped out of her daze. "Oh—I-I'm sorry Mr. Potter...um...age?"

"Seventeen."

"Occupation?"

"Er...I don't have one."

"Okay, please wait here." She got up from her desk and went through another door, but not before glancing back at his forehead.

"I hate it when they do that," Harry muttered; Remus smiled sympathetically.

A moment later, the young witch came back out. "Miss Carson will see you now, Mr. Potter." She said nervously.

"Good luck," Remus told him.

Harry smiled. "Hey, as long as it doesn't take me five tries, I'll consider myself satisfied." Remus blushed and gave him a rough nudge towards the door. Still smiling, Harry entered the door. There was another witch waiting for him, she had a stern face, light brown hair that was streaked with grey, light grey eyes, and was wearing light blue robes.

"Good afternoon," Harry greeted.

"Good afternoon," she replied, looking at a paper on her desk. "Please have a seat." Harry sat. "You are here to test for an Apperation license?"

"Yes Ma'am." He answered.

"Have you taken a class previous to this date?"

"Yes Ma'am."

"Where?"

"Hogwarts."

"Very well. Now, before we begin, I will need you to sign this release form." She handed him a form attached to a clipboard along with a quill. "If you sign this, you are agreeing that the Ministry and/or its personnel are not responsible for any injuries you might sustain, nor for any inconveniences you might cause to another citizen, be they of the magical or muggle community. You would also be agreeing not to divulge any information regarding this test to those who have yet to take it, and that you are of age, doing this of your free will, and take full responsibility for anything that might occur during your testing."

Harry nodded to show he understood, quickly read over the form, and signed his name at the bottom of the parchment, which he then handed back to her. She got to her feet, "Alright, follow me."

Harry followed the instructor out a door next to the window, and found himself in a large square room. There were a few of the old-fashioned wooden hoops like the ones used when they'd just been learning spaced throughout the room, though they were all one of three colors: red, yellow, and blue. Miss Carson stationed herself to the right of the door, and motioned for Harry to step in the only odd-colored hoop (which was black) that was laying a few paces in front of the door.

"Now, before we begin, I will refresh your memory on what was instructed during your class in Hogwarts." She cleared her throat quietly. "There are three things you must keep in mind when apparating. They are known as the three D's: destination, determination, and deliberation. Do you recall those?"

"Yes Ma'am." Harry replied.

She nodded. "Good. Now, for the first stage of this test, you must apparate from hoop to hoop judging by color, ending in the hoop you are currently standing in. You will start with the blue hoops, and for this stage there is no time limit. Your score will be determined by technique: which includes movement and sound; accuracy: which is judged by where you land; and speed, which is self-explanatory. Got all that?"

"Yes Ma'am."

"Then you may begin."

Harry closed his eyes and relaxed for a moment, then concentrated on the first blue hoop, about fifteen feet to his left. He then felt a small fizz beneath his skin: his desire to _be_ in that hoop. Turning on the spot, Harry imagined himself fading into nothing, then reappearing in the hoop. He did not hear a crack, but when he opened his eyes, he found himself in the hoop, a little right of the center. Concentrating on the next hoop five feet in front of him, he did the same thing, this time reappearing in the center of it. He did this three more times until at last he reappeared in the black hoop a good thirty feet away from his last blue hoop.

Miss Carson nodded, taking a quick note on her clipboard. Her stern face did not give any impression as to how well he'd done. "Now for the next stage. This one will include apparating from each yellow hoop to another. The scoring is the same, however, there is now a time-limit. You will be informed after you finish whether or not you were within it, and be given your time. Ready?" He nodded. "Begin."

With a little more urgency, Harry concentrated on the yellow hoop on roughly the other side of the room. His heart-rate sped up as he imagined himself in that hoop. His nerves hummed as he apparated from hoop to hoop, growing slightly more nervous as time went by. _Stop it,_ when he felt his palms sweating. _It's just a test, and I can retake it too._ As he forced himself to calm down, he continued to apparate through the yellow hoops, until at last he was back within the black hoop, though he was nearly standing on the edge of it.

Once again, the instructor nodded. "You are within the time limit, your time was two minutes and three seconds." Harry's shoulders relaxed as he let out a small breath of relief. "Now you will go through the red hoops. Location is important on this one, and the time limit is lower; you may begin when you are ready."

Harry nodded and then faced the room to let her know he was starting. Once again, his nervousness returned and he had to force himself to concentrate on only the red hoop, not the images of himself leaving behind a leg, an arm, his hair, or his head. _But it'd be nice to leave my scar behind,_ he thought with dour humor, and he apparated to the first hoop.

He continued to apparate, trying to remain calm as he went through the ten hoops, eleven including the black one. As he finished, he thought he felt a twinge in his scalp; he'd probably left a hair or two behind; how much would that count against him for?

Miss Carson once again wrote something down, her face expressionless. "You are once again within the time limit, you time was one minute and fifty-seven seconds. Now we are done with the first half of this exam. Please follow me."

A door appeared in the left wall, and Harry followed her through it. His eyes widened in surprise as they appeared in the middle of a muggle street. It was filled with people coming in and out of stores, driving through the street, honking, talking, and creating all manners of sound and movement. How was he supposed to concentrate in _this_?

"There is a concealment charm on this spot where we are standing," explained the witch, "However, there are none on the rest of the street. Your goal is to apparate next to the following places," she pointed them out and named them; five of them were stores, two were parked cars, and one was a lamp post. "You must not attract the attention of any of the passing muggles, if you do, your score is affected. Once again, there is a time limit. It begins in ten seconds, starting now."

Harry's mind scrambled for a solution. How was he supposed to _not_ get their attention? He was dressed in robes, and would make a loud _crack_ as he appeared out of thin air! Even a blind person would noticed something out of the ordinary! As he heard the examiner say: 'begin', his nerves got worse. How could he do it? He fingered his wand for comfort, and then it hit him: a silencing and notice-me-not charm. He thought the proper incantations as he pointed his wand at himself, and then concentrated on his first goal: the shoe store across the street.

The noise made it nearly impossible for him to direct all his attention on the store, and he couldn't close his eyes to concentrate, otherwise he might end up landing on someone. What could he do? He felt like a complete dolt, just standing there. He licked his lips, and slowed his breathing, trying to remain calm as his mind slowly ticked away the time. He'd probably spent at least a minute standing here...

_That won't help!_ He scolded himself. _I need to concentrate on apparation only! Nothing else_. As if that was all it had been waiting for, his mind completely blocked out the distractions caused by muggles, and he focused on the store. Turning on his heel, Harry felt himself vanish and reappear across the street. He smiled, _I can do this_!

He focused on his next target. The noise and excess movements of the muggles were dull, as if he was surrounded by a glass bubble, keeping him calm. With this 'bubble' around him, Harry apparated from point to point, and nearly collided with a bicycler at the second-to-last point. After apparating to the space where the examiner waited, Harry removed the charms on himself.

Once again, she wrote something down, and nodded, revealing nothing. A lump of nervousness formed in his gut. _Oh come on,_ he chided, _it's just a test, not even for an actual grade._ An image of how Hermione would react to his saying it was 'just' a test caused a small smile to appear on his face.

He followed Miss Carson back into her office, where she told him to wait outside while she completed his score. "How do you think you did?" Remus asked from his seat in the hall.

Harry shrugged. "Dunno really, I guess we'll find out."

A few minutes later, Miss Carson came back out. She handed Harry the parchment with his scoring on it, which he thanked her for and quickly read over it:

**Apparation Test for Mister Harry Potter**

_Age: Seventeen_

_Occupation: n/a_

_Examiner: Jorja Carson, Dept. of Trans._

**Stage One:**

**Technique: **Good

**Accuracy: **Acceptable

**Speed:**Above Average

**Stage Two:**

**Technique:**Acceptable

**Accuracy:**Good

**Speed:**Good

**Stage Three:**

**Technique:**Good

**Accuracy:**Good

**Speed:**Acceptable

**Stage Four:**

**Technique:**Above Average

**Accuracy:**Above Average

**Speed:**Good

**Comments:**

_Overall, your accuracy is your strongest suit. For technique, your movements could be more subtle and the sound decreased; the charms you used in the final stage were clever, but not useful for day-to-day apparation. You do well with speed, in fact, you were three minutes below the time limit in Stage 2, two minutes below in Stage 3, and four minutes below in Stage 4. _

**Overall Score:** Pass

Harry breathed a sigh of relief, then grinned at Remus. "See? Not five times after all!" Remus blushed and the stern examiner gave a small smile.

"Congratulations Mr. Potter, here is your license." She handed Harry a laminated card. It had a picture of him, his name, and an official-looking stamp above the signature of his examiner and the head of the Apparation Department.

He smiled. _Not bad at all,_ he thought to himself.


	8. One Last Golden Day of Peace

**Review Response:**

**TricaLee: **_By all means, you have that right; I daresay my thinking is along that line as well. Thank you for reviewing.

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**Chapter 8: 'One Last Golden Day of Peace'**

Harry had quite a bit of fun teasing Remus for the next several days about his Apparition scores, and just by apparating around the house. He realized that it didn't feel nearly as uncomfortable as when you were doing side-along apparition. However, Remus did make comments about how loud the noise was and how large his movements were. "You're flourishing like Lockheart." The older wizard drawled as Harry apparated to breakfast one morning. Harry spent the entire day working on minimizing his movements.

He got several owls from his friends, and he told each of them about his apparition license. He felt rather proud of himself actually, but his ego took a blow when he accidentally splinched and left behind his foot one afternoon; Remus nearly passed out laughing. However, in Hermione's letters, she asked about where he was planning to go first, when he was planning to go (so she could get ready and tell her parents), and what it was he was going to start looking for first: hints of Voldemort's past? Items that belonged to the Founders? How to create/destroy horcruxes? He was glad that Hermione asked these annoying questions, however, because he knew that, without them, he would never actually get going.

Ron's and Ginny's letters both talked about the upcoming wedding, which was set for thetwenty-first of August. Of course, Ron's letter also talked—inevitably—about Quidditch and the Chudley Cannons; he also took a moment to pose the question of if they would be able to watch Quidditch while they searched. Ginny's was a little bit more personal. She didn't seem to have taken Harry's saying that they couldn't remain together all that difficult. He wasn't sure if he should be happy or sad, really. With Hermione's advice in mind, Harry asked Ginny how she was feeling about a new Head of House; McGonagall couldn't be Headmistress and Gryffindor Head, after all. With that question, he would be able to see if she was going to continue Hogwarts. If she said she wanted to come with him, well, he was going to have to refuse her, and possibly even bring Mrs. Weasley into the fray if she argued.

About two days later, Harry and Remus both received an invitation to the wedding. It read:

_To Misters Harry Potter and Remus Lupin  
You are Invited to the Wedding of  
Bill Arthur Weasley  
&  
Fleur Anastasie Delacour  
On August the Twenty-First  
Six in the Evening,  
At the_ Bella Luna Pavilion

"What should we get them?" Harry asked after reading the invitation. He'd never been to a wedding before, but he at least knew that a gift was appropriate.

Remus shrugged. "We can ask Molly, she'll know, since she's in the middle of the planning. Personally, I don't see how someone can stay sane with all that planning, all those people to invite, all the lists you have to make," he shuddered slightly, "Bill told me a little while ago that he left it to Fleur, since he was so overwhelmed."

"How do they do it?" Harry said, shaking his head.

Remus simply replied, "It must be a woman thing."

* * *

So, it was on the twenty-first, eleven days before Hogwarts would begin again, that Harry and Remus arrived at the _Bella Luna Pavilion_. It was an outdoor pavilion, stationed next to a crystal-watered lake that was facing west. The ceremony itself would be taking place outside, and the after-party inside. After they had set their gifts on the designated table, they passed through the arched doors at the back of the pavilion, where two young wizards bowed them through. The friends and family of the Weasley family would be seated on the right, the friends and family of the Delacour family on the left. When Harry entered, he thought for a moment that the seats were in fire, but after he blinked, he realized that it was a very, _very_ large group of red-heads. He couldn't help but grin. "I never realized there were so many of them," Remus murmured, a small smile playing on his lips.

"Me neither," Harry murmured back as they looked for seats.

"Harry!" called a familiar voice. "Professor Lupin! Over here!" They turned their heads and saw someone waving to them. Their hair was a light tan speck among the red; it was Hermione.

"Hey Hermione," Harry greeted with a smile as she gave him a hug. "How are you?"

"I'm fine," she replied happily. "How are you two?"

"Just great," they replied.

"Where's Ron?" Harry asked as they sat down.

"Oh, he'll be coming in later, he's part of the ceremony," she replied, "All of the Weasleys are; well, all of Bill's direct family is," she amended, biting back a smile as she looked at all the red-heads present. Harry grinned.

"Red and silver go well together," Remus commented with asmile. Harry's grin widened as he realized what Remus was talking about. All of Fleur's family had silvery hair, while all of Bill's had red. However, there were spots of other colors where the non-related guests were. Harry recognized the Headmistress of Beauxbatons sitting on the Delacour side, talking with someone he couldn't see. Other than her, he didn't recognize anyone over there. However, on the Weasley side, he saw a few members of the Order, and even a few goblins, most likely friends of Bill's from Gringotts. They watched the others around them suspiciously, talking among themselves in low, foreign tones.

Suddenly, music filled their air. Harry looked up and quickly found the source. A little to the left of the slightly raised platform where the preacher stood, was a small band. One played the flute, another played the harp, a third played the piano, and two others played instruments Harry didn't recognize. The platform itself was white, with an elegant arch framing a beautiful setting of the lake and the sunset, and also where the couple would stand. As the music started, Bill himself came walking down the aisle, in dark blue robes with white trim and a crest on the back. The shield was split into four parts, the alternating spaces held lions on gold backgrounds and deer on silver. Two unicorns held up the shield, and an inscription was below, but Harry couldn't make it out; it must have been the Weasley family crest. Bill's long hair was loose, though he still wore his dragon-fang earring. The scars on his pace weren't as puffy as when Harry had seen him last, perhaps it was the lighting.

Once he was standing to the left of the preacher. The music changed tune, and the doors of the pavilion opened once more. People looked back to see who was coming: Charlie Weasley escorting a beautiful woman with silvery hair and luminous blue eyes; she was most likely Fleur's mother. When they reached the stage, they stood on opposite sides, and the next pair came in: a young man related to Fleur, and Molly Weasley. Mrs. Weasley had tears of happiness in her eyes as she looked at Bill and took her place. The other pairs all included members of both sides of the immediate family. Harry suspected that many of the witches from Fleur's side were cousins or aunts, since there were so many more Weasley siblings. All the men wore robes of cerulean blue, and all the women wore dresses of pale gold. When Ron came through the doors with a witch just a little older than him, and looking extremely nervous and happy at the same time, Harry grinned from ear to ear and gave his friend a subtle thumbs-up, which Ron saw and straightened his shoulders a little bit in answer. To Harry's surprise, even Percy was there, though his expression was not happy, simply blank. Harry wanted to throttle him; how could he be like that at his brother's _wedding?_

When at last all the pairs had taken their places either on the stage or at the sides of it, the music changed once more, to the tune Harry recognized as the bride's song. The doors opened, and his heart beat slightly faster as he saw the two flower girls: Gabriel and Ginny. They walked side by side, smiles on their faces. They were both dressed in matching gold gowns with white trim, and both had small baskets of flower petals, which they gently scattered on the ground as they passed. Ginny saw Harry looking at her and a small blush crept onto her cheeks as her smile widened ever so slightly. Harry grinned at her in reply. The two flower girls then stationed themselves at the edges of the platform, and then Fleur came out of the doors. Even though Harry though Ginny beautiful, he couldn't help staring.

The bride was in a gown of white, with gentle washes of gold, giving it the look of an ocean tide made entirely sparkling sunshine. However, the colors were not so bright as to hurt the eyes, but soft enough to sooth and be noticed. Her over robe was the same, though slightly more golden, with pearls on the hem. Her silvery hair was coiled up in a long thin braid on top of her hair, and a small, barely-visible net with small pearls covered it, similar pearls lined the edges of her dress and robe.The tiara Mrs. Weasley had mentionedweeks agosat elegantly on her head.

As she was led down the aisle by her father, Harry saw the crest on the back of her robe. It was an oval-shaped design, held up by a mermaid and a veela. In the center was the elegant letter '_D'_, and around it were a rearing unicorn, a sleeping dragon, and two doves, one above and the other below. An olive branch hovered below the device, along with words Harry, once again, couldn't make out.

The music died down as the bride and her father reached the platform, where Mr. Delacour kissed his daughter on the cheek and took his place next to his wife. Fleur smiled at Bill and he smiled back, then they both turned to face the preacher. _I wonder if that's actually what he's called,_ Harry wondered, but the thought was soon lost as the ceremony began.

The 'Unitist' (Preacher) began the ceremony, his voice warm and deep. "Welcome all, to this day and place, where these two people shall be joined together for as long as they live. Through light and dark, through day and night, through trials and triumphs, and through life and death, shall they be joined?"

"We shall." Bill and Fleur said, and a golden thread rose from the Unitist, while a blue thread rose from Bill as a ruby one rose from Fleur.

"On this day, your lives will begin; they will begin in a new way, not as two people, but one. Shall you be joined?"

"We shall." They replied, and the golden thread wrapped itself around the two threads, bringing them slightly closer.

"In the next day, your lives will continue, they will change, and they will be filled with pain and joy, with errors and corrections, with peace and unsettlement. Will you be joined?"

"We shall." The threads drew closer, growing brighter as they did.

"Fleur Delacour, will you join yourself with this man? Will you join and share in his faults? His triumphs? His love?"

"I shall," she replied, smiling at Bill.

The Unitist looked at Bill. "Bill Weasley, will you join yourself with this woman? Will you join and share in her faults? Her triumphs? Her love?"

"I shall," he answered, returning the smile.

"Then join, share, live, love, in all things good and bad, in all things hidden and revealed, in all times to come and pass, join in the name of your families, yourselves, your souls, and in the name of magic."

The ruby and blue threads merged together, forming a vibrant violet, and the gold thread held it together. There was a bright flash of light as Bill and Fleur kissed, blinding the audience for a moment. But when it cleared, Harry saw that the purple light was surrounding Bill and Fleur, twining around them as if it were a living thing. It wrapped tightly around them, then sank into their skin, where it merged with the brightly burning spheres of light at their hearts; Harry realized that those must be the cores of their magic, their essence. The two spheres rose higher, and melted into the purple light, ceasing to be separate, and becoming a single, golden-purple sphere. The lights vanished, and Harry saw the motherscrying they hugged each other. He couldn't hold back a grin, especially when the peoplebroke intolaughter and applause, and as fireworks burst in the air, courtesy of the Weasley twins. The fireworks blazed, illuminating the sunset, forming shapes that soared through the sky. Harry laughed as a purple one wrote the words: _Congratulations to Bill and Fleur Weasley; welcome to the family!_

The bride and groom then walked back down the aisle hand in hand, and led the guests back inside to the pavilion where drink, food, music, and dancing awaited them. Bill and Fleur danced first, and soon the other guests began. Harry grinned as Ron approached Hermione and asked to dance, she accepted with a smile and blush.

Harry and Remus watched as the dance floor was overrun by silver- and red-heads. Then someone appeared at Remus' elbow and whisked him off to dance, Harry laughed as he recognized Tonks. _It'll be their turn next,_ Harry thought with a smile. "Want to dance?" asked a familiar voice.

Harry turned and saw Ginny standing next to the table he was seated at. His smile widened. "You look great, Gin." He told her.

She blushed. "Thanks Harry. Now answer the question."

He laughed, "I'd love to." So they went out onto the floor, and Harry bowed slightly over Ginny's hand before they danced. As she came closer, he realized that he hadn't danced with her before, nor realized what a good dancer she was. Personally, he was having a difficult time not tripping over his robes, but Ginny—whose dress was longer than his robes—had no trouble at all. "So I guess you've finally got a sister, eh?" he said.

She smiled. "Yeah, two of them. Gabriel is really nice, and she likes pranks too."

Harry laughed. "Another miniature Fred 'n' George, hm?"

"Well, I don't know about _that,_ I think just a miniature of _one_ of them is enough. Fleur thinks the jokes are funny too, but isn't up to creating them like Gabriel is. She still talks about you, you know." She added, looking at him with a raised eyebrow.

"Er—well, I'm sure it's nothing," he replied after clearing his throat, "I mean, it's just because of the Triwizard Tournament, really."

"Mmhmm," Ginny replied skeptically.

"So, how are you looking forward to school?" he asked hastily, trying to avoid the subject of Gabriel.

"Oh, I suppose it won't be too bad, with a new Head and all. It just...won't be the same." She added in a quiet voice: "You know, without Dumbledore."

Harry nodded, mentally kicking himself for bringing up a sad subject; this was a _wedding_! It was supposed to be happy. _Great tact Harry, really._ Hermione's voice said in his head. Harry shook it out.

"What about you?" she asked casually. "Where are you going first?"

He was silent for a minute, not sure what he should tell her. "I'm not entirely sure," he said, "But Dumbledore—his portrait, I mean—suggested a place."

"Is it in another country?"

"Yeah."

"Will you be able to right?"

"I'm not sure."

"Well, you'd better find a way." He smiled wryly; Ginny could sound a lot like Mrs. Weasley at times.

The song ended, and Harry and Ginny sat down with Ron and Hermione to eat. Tonks and Remus were still dancing, and the four youths grinned at them whenever the pair looked their way. Remus was blushing in no time. As they ate, the 'Golden Trio of Gryffindor' talked about the past years, of the first time they'd met on the Hogwarts express, the Fluffy incident, constant arguments they'd had about studying vs. Quidditch, the stories they'd made up for Divination, all the fun things they'd done, all the good times they had. They laughed, bringing tears to their eyes as the memories came back, the ones full of adventure, puzzles, and happiness; the memories that would remain bright even in the darkness they all knew would come. And Harry realized that this might be one of the last times they'd get to talk so carefree, so close, without war, horcruxes, or Voldemort to distract him, and he took advantage of every moment; Ginny's being there was a bonus.

This was certainly his one last guaranteed day of golden peace.


	9. The Advice of a Serpent

**Review Responses:**

**Dragonic:**_ Thank you for reviewing, and for your support. Your suggestion of a timeline is an interesting one, I'll think about using it. But even so, I'm hoping to make the story easy to follow, and give a clear indication of how long it's been for certain events to take place. If I'm unable to figure out a way to do so, I most likely will do the timeline. Once again, I thank you for your suggestion and hope to hear from you again._

**Nataly S. Potter: **_Thank you for your review, and I'm sorry I took so long to update. Homework and projects are rather time-consuming, and I recently went to Catalina Island (California—boy was it a long ride there), and thus I only now am able to write. Hope you enjoy the story._

**MinorMistake99: **_Lol, thank you, and I apologize for the lack of action. Hopefully it will come soon enough; thank you for your patience so far._

**Dave the L's gal: **_Ah, you are most likely right concerning Tonks' age, but I didn't know her age, so I suppose she is older in this fic. My apologies for the confusion.

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**Chapter 9: The Advice of a Serpent**

Harry was once again reading through his defense books when he fell asleep late (or in the early morning) the night of the wedding. As dawn broke, he was awoken by a beam of sunlight shining directly in his closed eyes. Nonetheless, the brightness was enough to make him wake with a slight groan. He leaned forward, wincing slightly as he felt the stiffness in his back and neck from sleeping in such an awkward position. Rubbing the knot in his shoulder, he set the book aside and went downstairs for breakfast. Remus was no where to be seen, Harry knew that he had been with Tonks after the wedding and they had been talking when Harry had bid good-bye to the guests and newly weds.

Pouring himself a bowl of cereal, Harry went through the process of fully waking up. After eating, he returned to his room, got a change of clothes and then took a shower; the cold water woke him up with a sharp yelp. He glared at the shower one last time before returning downstairs. _I have to find out just where the Zotzion University is, and how I can get in to find what I need, _he thought. Just then, the fireplace lit up, and a voice called, "Harry? Albus' portrait would like to speak with you for a moment."

Recognizing it as McGonagall's voice, Harry called, "I'm coming," and stepped into the green flames. He closed his eyes and mouth, tucking his elbows in as he was flown through the many fireplaces and grates that were the Floor Network. He appeared in the Headmistress' office and— to his distaste—found Diega Prince sitting in a chair, waiting. "I will be back momentarily," McGonagall told him, giving Diega a look that clearly said 'try anything and I will gladly hex you'. Diega did not miss the threat and merely smirked.

Harry gritted his teeth, nodding in acknowledgement to the Headmistress' remark, but did not take his eyes of the Serpentine Sect member. "Harry, I am glad you came." Said the portrait of Albus Dumbledore.

Harry forced himself to look at the Headmaster and sit down, in the chair farthest from Diega of course.

"I wanted to speak with you about the University I mentioned, along with the artifact we had located before my end."

"What about them Sir?" Harry asked, wondering how Dumbledore could talk so calmly about his own death.

"Diega will be able to help you with them."

Harry snapped into a rigid position in his chair. His jaw clenched tight. Trust _her_ with that information? He would rather drink slime. "I can figure them out myself, Sir." He replied, straining to keep his voice calm and polite.

Diega smirked. "Gryffindor pride, it would seem my cousin was right about it."

Harry glared at her, his hands tightening on the arms of his chair. "Diega, if you would please conduct yourself in a proper manner," Dumbledore told her. The witch raised an eyebrow, but did not make any further comment. The former Headmaster looked back at Harry, who was surprised at the look in Dumbledore's eyes—it was one of slight annoyance. "Now, Harry, I am sure you are capable. However, sometimes it is best to let those who have more experience in the matter to assist you."

"I understand that Sir," Harry said, and then continued after hesitating for only a moment. "But to be frank, it's not a good idea to allow someone to help you if you don't trust them an inch." He finished his statement looking at Diega, who met his gaze with yet another smirk.

"Constant vigilance," she quoted, mocking both Mad-Eye and Harry at the same time.

Dumbledore looked at her again, quieting the witch, and then said to Harry. "I know trust is a problem during these dark times, however, it is the only thing that will allow us to succeed in overcoming the darkness."

Diega muttered something under her breath that sounded suspiciously like a sardonic: "_We?"_ Dumbledore didn't appear to hear her, but Harry did and shot her a glare out of the corner of his eye.

"I still would prefer to do it on my own Sir, and if I do need help, I know plenty of people who will be able to help. Give Hermione a few days and she'll be an expert on the subject."

Dumbledore smiled, but replied, "Though I do not doubt Miss Granger's abilities, nor your own resourcefulness, I regret to say that time is limited, Harry, and we need every advantage in time that we can grasp on to. Please, Harry, allow Diega to offer her advice."

_I'd as soon listen to the advice of a basilisk, _Harry thought savagely, but forced himself to nod. Just because he listened to what her 'advice' didn't mean he had to follow it.

"Thank you, Harry. Diega, if you would."

The part-vampire absently ran her fingers along her wand as she thought. "Zotzion is a school of..._shadowed_ education. Though it is less respectable than Durmstrang according to the Wizarding society," her tone made her opinion of that statement clear, "it is indeed regarded as one of magical learning that can be very advantageous to those who wish to learn of all aspects of 'Dark' magic. Gaining entrance is precarious; once you are in, you must complete a series of tests and numerous studies before you are permitted to egress. It is not a place for those of..._delicate_ opinions and outlooks," she smirked slightly at Harry, causing him to tense once more in dislike. "Those who enter to study must have a plan of action, they must have determination, and most importantly, and understanding of trickery and cunning. Which, if I may add my personal opinion, you do require much development."

"I think I've got enough to get along, thanks." Harry replied through gritted teeth.

Diega smiled. "Of course you do. Now, Zotzion has a collection of staff that will make the ones here at Hogwarts seem..." She noticed the warning look Dumbledore gave her and changed words, "...to be much easier taskmasters."

"I'm not afraid of a challenge." Harry retorted.

She smirked, twirling her wand between her long, elegant fingers. "Naturally, you would say that."

"What do I have to do to get in?" he asked.

"I already told you."

"I mean the specifics."

"I thought you weren't afraid of a challenge, Mr. Potter."

"I'm not!" he snapped.

She raised a mocking eyebrow. "Then why ask for the 'specifics'? Surely finding your way is part of the challenge? Or do you believe you are not up to the task? If that is so, the Dark Lord does indeed have an easy foe, if you can even be called that."

"Diega!" Dumbledore's portrait said sharply. She did not look at him, but nor did she continue.

Harry's face was burning. If it hadn't been for her past and undeniable ability as a dueler, Harry would have cursed her with the worst hex he knew. "I'm not afraid of any challenges," he growled, "but neither am I so prideful as to refuse help. The only reason I'm listening to you right now is because of that. If you're so stuck-up that you could care less about my decision, which I don't doubt a bit, then by all means, shut up and we'll both be happy."

For a brief moment, Harry regretted his words when he saw the spark light up in Diega's eyes. They were smoking coals, dangerously close to going up inlethal flames. He thought he saw a sliver of red appear in them, but it must have been his imagination, for they vanished as she smirked at him. "Well Mr. Potter, perhaps you do have a _slight_ potential, and because of that, I suppose I could give you the 'specifics'. However, there may be gaps in what I tell you, for it has been quite a while since I was initiated into Zotzion, and the Masters there may have changed the requirements."

She leaned back in her chair, a bored expression on her face as she explained. "You will have to undergo a series of tests that weigh your magical abilities, your intentions, and your current knowledge of the Dark Arts. You will be taught things you did not know existed; you will learn things you did not want to become aware of. You _will_ _not,_ however, be wasting your time. Zotzion is perhaps the one place where you can learn everything of horcruxes, but in order to do that, it will require a large amount of keen senses, many of which you could improve on.

"The Masters there shall not trust you, the epitome of good and light that you have come to be. You will have to work, Mr. Potter, work to gain their respect, grudgingly as it will come. They know of you, they know of your accomplishments, and they will goad, cheat, lie, and all those _wonderful_ things that you would expect of someone from Slytherin house. Your limits of your capabilities for the Dark Arts will be reached, if not broken, and you will either leave much more knowledgeable in the Dark Arts, horcruxes, power, and understanding... or you will not leave at all. Is that clear, Mr. Potter?"

Harry nodded. "Perfectly."

She looked at Dumbledore's portrait, which nodded and she looked back at Harry. "What is the 'object' of which was spoken of?"

Harry's hand twitched; he did not want to share it with her. However, a look at Dumbledore forced him to reach into his pocket and draw out the false locket. He wordlessly handed it to Diega, feeling regret and mistrust well up inside him as her icy-cold hand brushed his. She examined it in silence for a moment before opening it and taking out the note. She smoothed the parchment, her eyes quickly taking in the words written in faded ink. Harry watched her reaction carefully. Her eyebrows rose in surprise and her gaze wavered in its aloof steadiness, but other than that, she showed no emotion. Finally, after several long, tense minutes, Harry prompted. "Well?"

Diega merely shook her hand, handing the locket and note back to Harry. "He was a fool to do such a thing."

"Who?" Dumbledore asked. "What do you mean?"

"The horcruxe is a fake, Sir." Harry informed him quietly. "It was destroyed by someone else and replaced with a fake."

The former Headmaster looked to be in a mix of surprise and relief. "But who was it? How long ago?" he queried, more to himself than to the two living beings.

"I would know that handwriting anywhere," Diega said, "He was a member of the Sect, but was turned over by our Lord for treachery." She smiled bitterly. "Of course, only after his... punishment." Harry shivered unconsciously, imagining the anger Voldemort must have directed at the unfortunate Serpentine Sect member. "I had wondered why he was punished and then sent to the Ministry,"Diega continued, "But now I understand; the Dark Lord must have found out. What a foolish decision..."

"But who was it?" Harry asked, trying to keep a hold on his annoyance with the wait.

She looked coolly at him. "Who other than my old friend, Regulus Black?"

* * *

_(A/N: I apologize for following along with the common idea that it was Regulus who destroyed the horcruxe. I was actually the first in my family to think of him, but, alas, I am not the only one. I hope you enjoyed the chapter. – A.S. Leif)_


	10. We Will Still Help

**Review Responses:**

**Adi Phoenix:** _I thank you for your several reviews, and for your time which you took to read my story, and I am glad that you are enjoying it. In regards to your review of the previous chapter, I must ask if you are not all that fond of Harry. I mean no offense, but your tone does imply that. Personally, I sometimes do get irritated with him but, alas, it doesn't matter. Thank you again for reviewing._

**MinorMistake99:**_ Yes, I do think I will enjoy writing about Zotzion, though I am trying to think about how Harry will react to being immersed in the Dark Arts. Thank you for your amusing opening comment, and for reviewing. As always, I enjoy hearing from you._

**Nataly S. Potter:**_ Thank youfor reviewing and good luck with your English._

**uknowho:**_ I share the same opinion, though perhaps not as intensely; thank you for reviewing.

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**Chapter10: We'll Still Help**

Harry stared at her. "Regulus Black?" he repeated, and then looked at Dumbledore's portrait. "Isn't he... wasn't he Sirius' little brother?"

Dumbledore nodded. "Indeed he was." He looked at Diega. "It would seem that perhaps you were not the only one whom was not fully on the Dark Lords side."

She smirked, her eyes flicking over to Harry, but she did not say anything in reply to either of them. Harry did not like the glint in her gaze; it was if she knew something he didn't. _Which is probably true,_ he thought bitterly,_ if only about the Dark Arts._ "Can I speak with you for a moment, Sir?" he asked Dumbledore, "In private?"

The former Headmaster seemed to want to say that privacy was not necessary, but he obviously decided that he would loose the argument, and nodded. "Diega? If you would pardon us for a moment?"

She got smoothly out of her chair and gave a satirical bow before leaving the room. Harry glared at her backuntil the door was shut. "I don't trust her Sir, that's why I asked to talk to you alone." He said firmly, looking back at Dumbledore. "She might be spying for the Order again, but that doesn't mean I have to give her information that she could pass on to Voldemort to better 'gain his trust'."

Dumbledore sighed. "Harry, Tom never knew that she was a spy, and he did not order her to spy; she will have no reason to report any information to him."

"I don't care, it's better to be safe than sorry."

He shook his head sadly. "Very well Harry, I will not force you to trust someone. What is it you wanted to talk to me of?"

"Hermione and Ron want to come with me," he said uneasily, his agitation towards Prince gone for the moment.

"Miss Granger is willing to give up her education?" Dumbledore replied, an amused yet surprised smile on his face.

Harry couldn't hold back a smile either. "Yes, she said she'd get plenty of it while searching for the horcruxes. But, well, I'm not sure if they should come to Zotzion. From what Diega described of it, I don't think that they would be able to handle it."

"Handle what exactly?"

"Well, being so involved with the Dark Arts. I know Ron's got a major thing against it, and well, he'd want to stay with Hermione, who wouldn't mind learning, as long as she didn't have to use it."

The portrait fingered his beard in thought, eyes grave. "I am sad to say that you will have to use what you learn, in order to progress at Zotzion."

"So I'll be tested on the use of Dark magic?"

"Without a doubt."

Harry frowned; how would he convince Ron and Hermione that they need not come to Zotzion with him? "How long would I be there for?"

Dumbledore smiled, but there was bitterness to it. "It depends on how hard you work yourself, and how hard they work you, Harry. If you do not pass all the things they teach you, eventually, then you have a small chance of leaving at all."

Harry swallowed. "And if Ron or Hermione don't pass?"

"They will have to remain there."

"It could take years, couldn't it," he said.

"Indeed, it could; I myself spent three years, however, that was because I was not driven as you are."

Harryasked in surprise, "So I could do it sooner?"

Dumbledore nodded. "I have faith in you Harry."

"Thank you Sir." He took a breath, running a hand absently through his hair. "Should I enroll as Harry Potter? Or a different name?"

"They have tests to ensure your identity. However, upon your graduation from Zotzion, you will receive another name, and it will be your choice to use it or not."

He blinked; _that'sanodd thing to comment on._ "Okay. Well, I guess I'll go as soon as possible then."

Dumbledore nodded. "A good idea; however, Harry, make sure you are ready."

"I am." He replied firmly.

"Then good luck."

"Thank you Sir." Harry stood, a great deal on his mind as he left to inform Ron and Hermione about his decision.

* * *

"Packing list done?" Remus inquired as they ate dinner. 

Harry nodded. "Yeah, for the most part."

"Did you fill out and semdthe application forms for Zotzion?"

"Yeah."

"Did you tell Ron and Hermione?"

Harry grimaced. "Erm...not really."

Remus raised an eyebrow. "You _are_ going to tell them, aren't you?"

Harry sighed. "Remus, how in Merlin's name will I be able to convince them not to come? How am I supposed to tell them that they risk not being able to _ever_ leave Zotzion if they don't pass? How am I supposed to tell them that I'll be doing Dark magic? How am I supposed to tell them that I'll be learning what Voldemort did?"

The older wizard set down his fork. "Harry, sometimes, when you're a friend, you have to accept risks, and you have to take a fall or two to get something done."

"But they don't _have_ to take this risk!" Harry cried.

"What are you afraid of Harry?" Remus asked gently.

A lump formed in his throat. He'd known, ever since Diega's description of Zotzion, that he was afraid of going totheuniversity.He'd known that he was afraid of what might happen, what he might become. "They say the Dark Arts are like a drug," he said, his voice barely above a whisper as his emerald eyes dulled to a haunted glow. "That, when you do them, you want to _keep_ doing them, forever. I—I don't want that to happen to Ron or Hermione. If—if it happens to _me_, then I know others could bring me back. But I-" His voice cracked, and he had to take a breath before continuing. "I don't know if _I_ could bring _them_ back...I don't know if I'm a good enough friend..."

Remus' eyes softened. "You have every right to feel that way Harry, and I understand what you mean: you don't want to turn out like Voldemort." Mutely, Harry nodded. "If I know anything, Harry, it's that you won't end up like him."

"What? Are you a Seer or something?" Harry croaked, but his joke failed miserably.

Remus shook his head seriously. "Nor would I ever want to be one. But Harry, Voldemort has had rage, anger, hate, and cruelty ingrained into him for years. _You_ don't. He wants others to feel pain. _You_ don't. He was easily overcome by the lure of the Dark Arts. _You_ won't be. Do you see what I'm getting at? You're _stronger_ than him Harry, you won't be beaten."

"But that doesn't mean I can bring Ron or Hermione back..."

"You won't know until it comes, Harry, that's life. But I believe that you can. I believe that you are the best friend either of them could ask for." Harry did not voice his opinion that a better friend wouldn't be putting their lives at risk. Remus seemed to take his silence as acceptance. "Well, tomorrow you should get a letter back from Zotzion, and then we'll go get all the things you need, alright?"

"Alright," Harry replied, voice somber. He would not tell Ron or Hermione... But didn't they deserve to be told? _They'll come after you if you don't explain it to them,_ a voice whispered in his head. It was true. He sighed, and finished meal before putting the dish in the sink and heading upstairs to write a letter asking Ron and Hermione to come over.

* * *

Waking up the following morning, Harry found a sinister black hawk sitting on his windowsill. Its eyes held keen malice, which was reflected in its wickedly sharp, curved, yellow beak. Tied around its powerfully arched neck was a scroll. Harry cautiously approached the bird, gingerly reaching out to take the message. The bird snapped at him, a chuckle in its eyes, before flicking its head and causing the tie to come undone, and the letter to fall into Harry's palm. Harry stepped away from the bird, and looked at the seal on the scroll. It was blood-red wax, and the design stamped was of a sharp-fanged wolf's head howling, along with the letter 'Z', two crossed swords below, and a wand hovering above the wolf's ear. For some reason, it sent a slight shiver up Harry's spine. 

He cracked the seal open, and unrolled it to see the message. In slick, cursive writing were the words:

_To Mister H. J. Potter_

_You have been accepted to the Zotzion University of Bulgaria_

_Arrive at the campus in three days, or forfeit your enrollment._

_The station to the campus is in the city of Sofia, and will depart at noon, _

_Your ticket is enclosed, along with a Charter of Enrollment, which must be signed and filled by yourself and no other._

_We await your arrival._

_How friendly,_ he thought dryly, looking up from the letter. The hawk gave him a haughty look and then flew from the sill, vanishing into the sky. Harry sat down on the edge of his bed, staring at the letter. Three days... he had three days to tell Ron and Hermione, three days to pack, three days to find out where the heck '_Sofiya'_ was, and three days to decide his future... Why couldn't it have been a month, or even a week or so? Why just three days? How did they expect him to decide that fast? Harry shook his head. He would just keep delaying if it wasn't soon. He got up, got dressed, and headed downstairs for breakfast. When Remus came down, Harry told him about the letter and the Charter of Enrollment.

"May I have a look at the Charter?" Remus asked. "I might be able to find out all the little requirements that they're trying to hide, so you won't be tricked into promising something you'd rather not."

Harry smiled gratefully and immediately handed over the Charter. "Thanks Remus."

"No problem Harry, I want to help you any way I can; have you decided how to talk to Ron and Hermione?"

Harry sighed, his smile gone. "I guess I'll just talk to them about it, I though about what to say last night."

Remus nodded. "Good; call them now, and by the time you finish, I'll probably be done with this."

"Alright." Harry went to the sitting room and lit the fireplace. Taking a pinch of floo powder form the jar on the hearth, he threw it into the fire, turning the flames green, and called: "The Burrow." He stuck his head in and waited for someone to notice him.

It was actually Ron. "Hey Ron," Harry greeted.

Ron smiled. "Hey mate; everything okay over there?"

Harry hesitated; now was his chance to back out of telling them... "Yeah, but I need to talk to you and Hermione about something, okay?"

Ron shrugged. "Sure; where at?"

"Erm, Hermione's at her house, right?" Ron nodded. "Then why don't we meet at mine? I'll call her and ask her to come."

"Sounds good, I'll be right over." He looked over his shoulder and narrowed his eyes, scanning the room, before looking back at Harry and lowering his voice. "Is it about... you know..._those_ things?"

"Sort of," Harry replied uneasily, "More about where I'm going."

"I'm going with you," Ron said immediately.

Harry withheld a sigh. "I'll meet you over here in a few minutes then." he said, avoiding making a reply tohis best friend'scomment.

"Right, see you soon mate."

Harry withdrew his head from the fireplace and then called Hermione's address to the flames. He saw Mr. Granger, a tall, brown-haired man with cheerful grey eyes and glasses, sitting on the couch. He looked up in shock when the fire roared into life, and Harry had to stop himself from allowing his amusement to show. "Hello Mr. Granger," he instead said politely, "I'm Harry, may I speak to Hermione for a moment?"

The man nodded, "Yes, of course, I'll go get her." Still slightly shaken from surprise, he exited the room, and Harry heard him call, "Mione! It's one of your friends, Harry!"

"Coming Dad!" Hermione's voice called, and Harry heard quick, light footsteps coming from upstairs. Within moments, Hermione came into the room and knelt before the fireplace. "Hi Harry!" she said breathlessly. "How are you?"

"I'm fine," he replied, "I just wanted to talk to you and Ron about... well, where I'm going."

She looked at him suspiciously. "You know we're coming too, right?"

He sighed. "That's practically what Ron said." He muttered.

"What was that?" she asked primly.

"Nothing," he replied hastily, "Um, listen, could you come over to Remus' and my house for a second? Just to talk? Ron said he'll be here in a minute or so too."

She nodded. "Let me go ask my parents for permission; I'll be back in a moment, don't go anywhere." She hurried from the room, and Harry caught the sound of a quick conversation and explanation before she came back into the room. "Okay, I can come over; I just have to be back by lunch."

"Great, I'll see you here then."

"Yes, yes, now let me through."

Harry withdrew his head from the fireplace, chuckling. Hermione sometimes could be bossy, but that's what made her Hermione. He got up off the floor to find Ron standing behind him; he jumped a little in surprise. Ron grinned widely. "Gotcha."

"How'd you get through?" Harry asked.

"The upstairs fireplace, remember?"

"Oh, right. Well, Hermione's-"

"Here! Oof, ow, I _hate_ that form of tran-ahh!" she tripped over the edge of the chair and Ron caught her by the arm.

"Careful," he said, steadying her. He only let go after lingering slightly, causing Harry to hide a grin; neither of them noticed. They then looked at Harry, Hermione absently brushing soot off of her skirt. "Where will we talk?" Ron asked.

"Here or upstairs, I suppose." Harry replied.

"Upstairs," Ron said promptly, "It's not as blue up there." Hermione rolled her eyes slightly, but a small smile was pulling at the corners of her lips. Once they were seated in the Den, Harry took a breath and explained to them about his meeting with Dumbledore and Diega yesterday. They were silent as he told them what he would be required to do, where it was at, the several restrictions he'd read over in a small manual he'd found in Dumbledore's office, and about the stay-till-you-pass policy of Zotzion. He explained about the lure of the Dark Arts, of how Voldemort had been learning the same things, of how he'd been consumed by them, about how he himself was afraid that he or they would fall into the same pit as Tom Riddle. Once finished, he fell into silence.

"You know we wouldn't let that happen to you, Harry." Hermione said quietly.

"But I don't know if I could stop it," he replied, "You've got no idea how creepy it is to realize the similarities between me and... and Voldemort. Neither of us had the best of childhoods, neither of us had parents or friends to grow up with until we went to Hogwarts, we even share some of the same powers...! If I _do_ fall to the Dark Arts, I don't want you to be there in case..."

"Incase what?" Ron asked when his friend didn't continue.

"Incase I try to harm you," he finished softly. "I know you want to help me, and I know you could, and I know you're willing to take the risks, but you don't have to!" He looked pleadingly at them. "You've always been there for me, and you still can be, but you don't have to go to Zotzion. I can tell you about anything I learn when I get back, if I haven't fallen, but you can still help me even if you're not there! The fact that I know you're alright, that I can ask you something or just talk to you through letters if I want, that's all the support I need! I—I just don't want to put you two in any more danger than I have to already..."

His two friends were silent, thinking similar thoughts. Harry didn't want to be rid of them, but he didn't want to give them up, he just wanted to protect them. "We're not kids anymore mate," Ron said finally, "We're not first years, or anything like that. We're giving up school to help you-"

"But you don't have to!" he exclaimed. "Hogwarts is one of the safest-"

"For how long?" Hermione interrupted. "Yes, it is safe, Harry, but for how long? How will we be prepared for the war if we spend our time locked inside, safe from all the danger? We won't Harry, you have to realize that. We're better off out of the country, learning things to fight back with."

"But Zotzion is...is... it's hard, Hermione, Ron; Diega told me about the tests they'll put me through, and I _know_ you guys don't have to do them, I can tell you about the magic later! You don't have to go through with it?"

"So you don't want us to go to Zotzion, is that it?" Ron demanded. Harry nodded miserably.

"Then we won't," Hermione said calmly. He looked up rapidly. "I happen to know of several _other_ universities that have information about the Dark Arts, and are not necessarily _immersed_ in them. One is relatively close to Zotzion, I'm sure."

Harry sighed; they didn't seem to be getting the point. "Listen-"

"No, you listen Mr. Potter," Hermione said sternly, sounding so much like McGonagall that Ron and Harry both looked at her in surprise. "We'll still help you, no matter what, no matter where. We'll get an education we couldn't at Hogwarts, we'll be a little ways from the war, and we'll be able to contact each other, possibly even meet every now and then. We _will_ learn about how to find and destroy horcruxes."

"And we'll do it together." Ron added firmly.

Harry looked at them carefully. They really did have their hearts set on this; they really did want to help. "Alright," he said in quiet defeat, though inwardly he was glad that they would be close by, and farther away from Voldemort. "But I have to be at Zotzion in three days."

They merely nodded. "We'll get applications," Hermione said firmly, her hand held lightly in Ron's.

* * *

_A/N: Ah, now the journey actually begins! Some of you might be saying "FINALLY!", and I apologize for the wait. As a thank-you for being so patient, I'll tell you that in the next chapter, Harry will arrive at Zotzion, and I'm fairly sure that he will meet some new characters there. Currently I'm doing a bit of research on Bulgaria to get ideas for the magic, folklore, locations, climate, etc. of the country, and therefore as a basis for Zotzion. If you have any ideas, please, I would be interested and grateful to hear them. Thank you one and all for reading, sincerely,  
-- A. S. Leif_


	11. Sofia Bulgaria & The Journey to Zotzion

**Review Responses:**

**Nataly S. Potter: **_You're right; Ron and Hermione are going to go to a different University than Harry. Don't worry about errors in English, out of curiosity, what is your first language? Thank you for reviewing._

**MinorMistake99: **_As always, your review is amusing, lol, and I'm sorry for not updating sooner. My computer is being stupid and the internet wasn't working, so I couldn't even check my e-mail. Well, here's the first chapter of Harry's journey to Bulgaria, I hope it doesn't disappoint._

**Sephiroth1991**:_ A good idea, but I'm not sure if he'll appear at Zotzion, but perhaps somewhere else..._

**One Phoenix:**_ Thank you very much for your support, I'm happy to know that someone is reading my stories!

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**Chapter 11: Sofia, Bulgaria**

Harry spent quite a few hours at the muggle library looking up information on Bulgaria and—as he found out—its capital, Sofia. He looked up everything from its history to its current weather, and even found a few common phrases in the Bulgarian language, which he practiced; no doubt his accent was atrocious. Remus helped him find a bookstore in a magical community shopping center that sold history books on countries, but there weren't many on Bulgaria; nevertheless, Harry bought one of each.

Ron and Hermione were searching for a University, but the only one they'd found so far was in another city: Kurdzhali, which was just above the southern border, in the Rhodope Mountains area. As the first day went by, Harry studied all he could about Bulgaria, and visited a magical travel agency that would give him a portkey to Zotzion. He'd gotten several funny looks from the travel agent who assisted him, and he had no doubt that the looks would have been turned to ones of horror if he'd shown his scar. He could already see the headlines: _Boy-Who-Lived Goes To University of Dark Magic!_ Merlin, how he hated being famous...

Imagination-overuse aside, Harry grew nervous the closer the time came for him to leave. Remus had found a few things in the Charter that he thought Harry should be aware of, namely that he would be bound by Oath not to reveal any secrets he'd learned until he'd graduated, his times to be off campus grounds would be restricted, and punishments would be _harsh_ if he broke any of the rules. _Wonderful,_ he groaned inwardly, listening to Remus recite all the rules the Charter had spoken of. Harry packed his bags the night before his departure, hands shaking slightly as his books, clothes, and equipment shrank and tucked themselves away neatly. How would he resist the lure that the Dark Arts cast out? That trapped so many people? Was it even a good idea? Going where someone who followed _Voldemort_ had gone and graduated from? How could he trust Diega's judgment? _I can't,_ he thought angrily, _but I can trust Dumbledore's, can't I? He graduated, and he's—well, he was the greatest Light wizard ever!_ These thoughts comforted him a little, but only enough to allow him to fall into a restless sleep, rather than a nightmare-filled one.

Harry tossed and turned in his sleep until at last he was woken by a soft voice. "Harry...Harry, you should wake up, your portkey activates in two hours."

The young wizard shot up in bed, hair extremely mussed and emerald eyes bleary. "Wha-? Two hours?" he rubbed at his eyes, fighting the urge to sleep more. "That'd mean it's..." he fumbled for his glasses and looked at the clock: it read six o'clock. He yelped, throwing off the sheets. "Calm down," Remus urged with a slight chuckle, "You have plenty of time. You packed last night, remember?"

Rushing to his nearly-empty dresser, Harry snatched at the clothing he'd left out for today. "But I promised Ron and Hermione and the Weasleys that I'd say good-bye!" he said.

Remus smiled. "Don't worry, they're coming in an hour."

Harry froze, an arm going through the neck-hole of his shirt. He blinked. "You mean Ron's actually _waking up_ that _early?_"

The older wizard laughed, and soon Harry began laughing too. The red-head's favor of sleeping in until noon whenever possible was a well-known fact, and the image of him waking up was an amusing one. "I believe Molly threatened him," Remus said once they'd both calmed down. "Now come on, get dressed and let's get some breakfast."

So as Harry changed into his clothes at an easier pace, Remus got breakfast ready. Harry could have closed his eyes and just followed his nose to the kitchen if he'd wanted to. Breakfast was a meal large enough that was Mrs. Weasley-worthy: waffles, sausage, bacon, eggs, toast, oatmeal, juice, and milk. Despite the lump in his throat, Harry managed to eat a little bit of everything, and a little more with Remus' cajoling. It would be a far trip, and who knew if he'd get time to eat upon his arrival. When they were half way through their meal, there was a ring at the door. "I'll get it," Harry offered, jumping up from his chair. As he went to the door, the doorbell sounded three more times. When he opened the door, he found Mr. Weasley enthusiastically pressing it a fifth time, with Hermione trying to explain to him that it wasn't very polite to ring it more than once.

"Hi," Harry greeted with a smile, "Thanks for coming."

"Not at all dear," Mrs. Weasley said, stepping in to give him a bone-crushing hug. Harry returned it, despite the lack of oxygen in his lungs. "We're having breakfast," he told them, "There's more if you'd like to join us." So the Weasleys and Hermione followed him to the kitchen, where Remus enlarged the table and got out more plates and silverware. The meal was a joyful one spent talking, laughing, and eating, though there was a slight anxiousness in the air. All too soon, it was ten until eight and Harry had to get his things and said his good-byes. "We'll owl you as soon as we get into a University," Hermione promised quietly, hugging him tightly.

"Yeah, as soon as we get into one," Ron agreed, his voice rough as he clasped his best friend's hand firmly.

"Thanks," Harry replied softly.

"You let us know if anything is wrong, okay dear?" Mrs. Weasley said tearfully, hugging him again. "You know you're always welcome back at the Burrow, you're family, Harry."

"And I can't thank you enough for that." He replied. He said good-bye to the older Weasley males and then the twins and Ginny.

"Bring back some new prank ideas, alright?"

He smiled. "Will do."

Ginny kissed him on the cheek, causing Harry to blush as the others watched. "Be careful," she said. "I'll send my letters with Ron and Hermione, and tell you how...how it is at Hogwarts."

Harry said, "I'd like that."

Remus shook his hand before pulling him into a tight hug. "Be careful Harry," he whispered, "But don't worry. You'll do fine. You're a powerful wizard, those Arts won't know what hit them."

"Thank you," Harry replied softly to keep his voice from cracking. Remus had given him a home, a family, and all the support he could ever need, and now he'd be leaving that here in this house. "You keep Tonks on her toes," he said teasingly, trying to lighten the mood. There were a round of grins and weak chuckles.

Just as Harry grabbed his back and portkey, the clock struck seven, its gonging echoing the pull of the portkey. Harry felt a jerk behind his navel and all too soon his home and family disappeared. It felt as if he was spinning around and around in violent circles. Buildings, streets, rivers, forests, mountains, and swamps rushed by him, never staying for longer than half a second, the smearing colors and blending temperatures making him rather nauseated. At long last, his portkey came to an abrupt halt in the middle of a lobby with various doors and halls leading off from different sides. Bewildered, he looked around, and couldn't find any sign showing him which direction to go. There were other people walking briskly through the room and halls, no one seemed to notice him. He spotted a wizard whom looked like a security guard and walked over. "Um, excuse me?" he called, but the wizard didn't seem to hear him. "Excuse me?" he repeated.

The wizard abruptly walked away to aid an elderly witch who was boarding what looked like a train leading off from a hallway containing a boarding platform. Growing frustrated, Harry walked over to another individual. "Excuse me? Can you help me find-" He stopped abruptly as a crowd passed in front of him, blocking him from view. There was a tap on his shoulder and Harry turned around, finding himself looking at a young man a few years older than himself with hair such a dark brown it was nearly black, a slight beard on his chin, and amber eyes.

"You are...foreign?" the wizard asked, a thick accent making his English hard to understand.

Harry nodded. "Yes."

"You ought to go to the agency," he pointed to a hall marked with blue lettering Harry couldn't read. "They are able to help with...language. Where are you going?"

"A University," Harry replied.

He raised an eyebrow. "You do not look like one who attends Zotzion." Harry merely shrugged, uncomfortable with answering.

"Thanks for your help," he said simply, the wizard nodded and disappeared in the next crowd.

Harry went over to the agency hall and was greeted by a Bulgarian witch. "I'm from London, England," Harry said, "I was told that you could help me."

The witch smiled. "Ah, yes, please, follow me." She led him to a small office. "Welcome to Sofia, the capital of the Republic of Bulgaria. Here the common currency is Lev, and the language is Bulgarian, as is obvious. If you need, we can offer you a quick series of lessons in the Bulgarian language and culture."

"Um, no thanks, I need to find a train." Harry answered.

"May I see your ticket?"

"Erm, well, all I have is a letter of acceptance." He replied hesitantly. "You see, I'm going to the University."

"Ahh, I see, well, in that case, the transportation to Zotzion is leaving in five minutes, and is seven halls down on the right, you can see the school crest on the archway."

Harry's eyes widened. _FIVE MINUTES!_ "Thank you for your help," he said breathlessly and rushed out of the hall. _Lucky me, _he growled to himself as more floods of people came out of various halls and stations. He did his best to be polite as he nudged his way through the crowd, searching frantically for the archway the agency witch had described. Precious seconds were lost as he stood on tip toe to try and see over the heads of the rather tall Bulgarians. As he passed a clock, he saw that he had one minute, and renewed his efforts to get through the crowd. Harry began to sweat slightly as he fumbled through the crowds and halls. With a sigh of relief, he spotted the Zotzion rest and made his made towards it. Someone's foot caught his ankle just as he made it there and he fell, slamming his hand against a stone column and splitting his lip on the hard marble floor. With a groan, he got to his feet, wiping the drops of blood off the floor before going through the station door. The train was black with the Zotzion crest on the doors...which were closing!

"Wait!" Harry called, rushing forward. He managed to slip in just before the opening got too small, but his robe got caught in the process. Grumbling under his breath, Harry jerked the hem free, tearing it as he did so. With a roll of his eyes, Harry summoned the scrap of cloth to him and pocketed it; he'd fix it later. To his surprise, there were practically no other people on the train. He found an empty compartment—which wasn't that hard—and sat, watching through the window as the city landscape rolled by. _A pity I didn't get a chance to look around,_ he thought to himself. He was just getting to like the mountainous scenery when the window abruptly blacked out. "What?" he yelped, trying to see through the black screen. "What's going on?" But whether or not someone heard him, he got no answer. With a sigh, Harry settled himself back in his seat and pulled out a book on Bulgarian art.

For several hours the train traveled, and Harry could hear the pattering of rain, and feel the icy chill on the window, but he couldn't see out. _These people must be really paranoid about keeping their location secret,_ he mused. Suddenly, the train came to a sharp halt, throwing Harry—who'd been standing to stretch his legs—into the compartment door. He winced as the hard wood smacked his jaw and the doorknob jabbed into his stomach. The second jerk sent him tumbling backward into the window, where the frost chilled his neck and sent goose bumps rippling along his arms and legs. Rubbing his sore jaw, Harry left his compartment and joined the few others who were also on the train; none of them looked very friendly.

Upon exiting the train, Harry was surprised to find himself shivering. The cause, of course, was the snow on the ground the chill in the air: he was at the top of a mountain. He was unaware that he was gaping until someone's elbow clipped his side. He winced and glared at the person's back, but followed them up the iced stone staircase that led up to the campus grounds.

Harry did his best not to slip, shiver, or let his teeth chatter. He felt a bruise forming where his jaw had hit the door, and on his hand where he'd hit the column near the station entrance. After several minutes of climbing, listening to the others speaking Bulgarian or other foreign languages, and nearly slipping and falling to his death, he reached level ground. A shadow loomed over him, tall and commanding: it was Zotzion.

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_(A/N: Sorry to leave you hanging like that, I promise there'll be more interesting activity in the next chapter, and Harry'll meet new people, and I won't take so long to update! Thank you for your patience, and please review! Sincerely, A.S.Leif)_


	12. Zotzion

**Review Responses:**

**MinorMistake99: **_I'm glad that you were amused by Harry's bad luck, I myself found it extremely satisfying to bully him slightly. Sigh, it was such fun. Of course, there will be **plenty** more of that later evil grin. Perhaps you **are** being slightly dramatic, since no one else has complained , I'm sorry to say, but your dramatization is funny, I have to admit. So please, continue to be dramatic, your reviews make me more eager to update in order to reply. Thank you for reading, my ever-faithful-and-amusing reviewer, sincerely, A. S. Leif.

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**Chapter 12: Zotzion**

The castle was sinister-looking, made of extremely dark stone that seemed to swallow the light that reflected off the snow around it. There were several towers, tall and spindling, grasping towards the sky like jagged fingers. Long, thin archways connected various towers to either each other or the main building. They were so slim that Harry feared they would break the moment he set foot on one. Mist hung in the air, shrouding the top of the castle and its towers in cloud, giving it an ominous air. Harry huddled deeper into his robe and continued to walk towards the University. The doors, when he reached them, were large and black, the wood they were made of seemed twisted in an almost agonized way. The knarled black iron handles were a foot long, and glossed with ice. Dangerously large icicles hung from the archway above the door, and Harry took care to skirt around the ground which they hung over. A few of the other students noticed and snickered; Harry glared, but it only was seen by their backs.

With a loud creak, the doors opened inwardly, and the students walked inside. To Harry's annoyance, inside was only a few degrees warmer than outside; nevertheless, he did not complain. Torches and crystal globes filled with smoky light illuminated the hall in which they were in. Another staircase was at the end, and they briskly walked up it, Harry looking around him to see if there were any portraits or statues of interest; there were none. Compared to Hogwarts, Zotzion so far seemed barren. The grand staircase led up to a large room similar to the great hall, with towering statues of menacing-looking dragons and gargoyles. At the head of the room was a large table, over which hung a large tapestry of the Zotzion crest. Before the table were other witches and wizards, all dressed in matching robes of black with blood red trim, though upon closer inspection, each bore a different sign on the right sleeve and left side of their chest. Seated at the table were who Harry assumed to be the professors. The one seated in the large black throne-like chair he guessed to be the Headmaster, of sorts. Silence fell as the newcomers reached the front of the hall.

The Headmaster could be described in one word: eerie. His skin was milk-white, his hair a strange blue-black. His ice-blue eyes glinted with power and cunning, and his long-fingered hands stroked a short, neatly trimmed beard. His nose was strongly arched, but it gave him the look of a vicious bird of prey. He scanned the newcomers with his piercing, chilly gaze, smirking slightly as he passed over Harry's face. Said wizard felt a blush rising in his face, and fought it back down; he already didn't like the Headmaster. "Welcome to Zotzion University," the wizard said in flawless English, his light voice sliding over Harry like oil. "I am Elder Vladimir, the head of this University and you shall address me as such. The Magisters of the university shall be introduced to you in due time. But for now, you must be assigned to your...sponsor, shall we call it. When your name is called, step forward."

All of a sudden, Harry felt like he was a first year again: nervous, not knowing what to expect, wondering if he would be treated different, and all those things. But one thing that had certainly changed was that he already did not like the 'Elder' of Zotzion. Vladimir had looked at Harry with amusement, and the young wizard got the feeling that the Elder was having a joke at Harry's expense.

The names that were called first Harry could barely understand. They were mostly Bulgarian, though there were two or three which seemed Greek. It made sense, seeing as how close Bulgaria was to Greece. When the students were called forth, they were picked by one of the Magisters, and remained at their new sponsor's side while the others were called and chosen. Harry's worst fears were realized when he discovered that he was the last one to be called; apparently they didn't believe in alphabetical order. "Harry Potter," droned the Magister. Harry took a resolute step forward, fighting to keep his face from flushing as they looked him over. No doubt he looked like a rag-tag teenager with his skinny build, the bruise on his jaw and hand, messy hair, glasses, and the tear on the hem of his robe.

The hall was silent for several long minutes as the Magisters and students looked him over. Wonderful, he was already being judged... There were a few snickers from the back, and they did not bother to try and muffle them. "A sponsor must be chosen," Vladimir drawled, idly twirling his wand in his fingers. As the Elder said this, he looked at a particular Magister, one who did not look at all pleased by the glance.

"Come over here boy," the wizard snapped, and Harry silently walked over, feeling more embarrassed by the moment.

Vladimir said something in Bulgarian, and the crowd dispersed. Harry looked around, wondering where he was supposed to go. When he looked back, he found that his Magister-sponsor had already begun walking down another hall, towards a large stairwell that led downwards. Harry hurried over to catch up, his footsteps echoing on the stone and off the walls. "What are you following _me_ for, boy?" his sponsor snapped, and Harry froze in shock. "Go to the tailor, you need new robes. Come to my quarters in two hours, I'll introduce you to your fellows then."

So then it was that Harry was left standing in the middle of a hallway, staring stupidly after his so-called 'sponsor' (who seemed to want nothing to do with him) and with bypassing students snickering at him, talking to each other in Bulgarian while shooting taunting looks at him. What a wonderful start.

Harry finally broke free of his deer-in-headlights trance and resolutely looked around; he'd do best to start taking note of places so he'd know where to get around. Determinedly, he turned around and walked down the left hallway, certain that he would find the tailor soon enough.

Fifty minutes later, and he was totally, helplessly, embarrassingly lost.

"They should have maps or something around here," he muttered angrily to himself, cheeks flushed from annoyance and the cold. For some odd reason, the castle only got colder the more he explored; you'd think that they _liked_ turning into ice cubes! It was by sheer chance that, ten minutes later, he saw someone walking with a damaged robe down a hall he was near. Silently, Harry followed him, hoping that they were going to the tailor. When he turned a corner and saw an open door leading to a room filled with tables, lamps, cloth, thread, and needles, he nearly gave a shout of joy. Stepping into the room, he found it much warmer all of a sudden, and his feet began to thaw out.

He waited while the other wizard spoke with the tailor and got his robe fixed, then cautiously approached; would the tailor be as rude as the others? "Er, hello," he said hesitantly.

The tailor was a mild-looking wizard in his late thirties, with graying-blonde hair and dark brown eyes. He was wearing a plain black robe, and had narrow glasses that gave him a squinting look. He looked up and blinked at Harry. "A new one, eh?" he said, his English holding a trace of an Italian accent. "I suppose you'll be needing new robes?"

"Yes Sir," Harry answered.

The tailor straightened, a thoughtful look on his face. "Well, come along then, into the back room." He led Harry through the aisles of cloth, robes, pants, shirts, and boots, until arriving in a relatively clear space with a stool and measuring instruments. "Step up, lad." The tailor ordered, getting the measuring tape while Harry obliged. The wizard's knobby hands were quick and efficient, easily sliding the tape around Harry's shoulders and back. After a few moments of writing down his finds, the tailor picked out a set of uniform robes, along with some pants, a few shirts, two pairs of boots, a heavy, fur-lined cloak, a small pouch-like bag, and socks, all of which he placed in Harry's arms; the overall weight was surprisingly heavy.

"Who's your Magister, lad?" he asked, taking the robes.

"Um...Magister?" Harry repeated, feeling stupider by the minute.

He sighed. "Your Sponsor? Your teacher?"

"Well," he hesitated, "I don't know, he didn't tell me his name, Sir."

"Did you see the crest your fellows were wearing?"

"Sort of, Sir."

"What did it look like?"

Harry wracked his brain and described it as best he could. "Well, it was diamond-shaped, with an animal head of some sort inside."

"What color was the border of the diamond?"

"Red, I think."

"Ah, that'd be..." his voice dropped to a low murmur as he busily set about embroidering the sign Harry had seen and vaguely described. While he worked, Harry looked at the detail of what his Sponsor's sign was. The red diamond was the border of a complex design. In the center was a dragon's head. It was black with silver eyes, sharp horns that jutted backward from its head, and a forked tongue along with sharp white fangs. A four-pointed star was behind the dragon, and beneath it was a spear and wand crossed. The background was a series of intricate knot-like patterns that looked like a mixture of waves and lightning bolts; it was hard to tell really. When the tailor was done, he handed the robes back to Harry. "Thank you Sir," he said.

The man blinked. "No trouble, lad; there's a pack near the door that you can put those in."

"Thanks again, Sir." Harry replied as he headed out the door.

As he left, he thought he heard the tailor murmur, "And don't let them turn you into a heartless, manner-less person either..."

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_A/N: You'll find out more about Harry's Sponsor in the next chapter, and several more characters will be introduced. His education will begin somewhere in the next two chapters, I'm not entirely sure which. Also, updates will be delayed, since my computer is being stupid and refusing to let the internet work at random times, so I apologize for the delay(s). I hope to hear from you all, and thank you for reading, as always. A.S.Leif

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**This notice added at 11-17-2005, as opposed to the update of this chapter on 11-11-2005:**

Firstly, I must apologize,for there will be a delay in the story for a few days, perhaps even a week. The reason for the disruption of my usual once-a-week update schedule is both due to heavy schoolwork and the recentdeath of my uncle by cancer. I apologize to you, my faithful readers, but I need some time away from life. I hope you will understand, and I will return to the story as soon as I feel able. Good luck and God bless, A.S.Leif.


	13. The Sponsor

**Review Response:**

**MinorMistake99:**_ I believe it's fun to give anyone a hard time, and you're quite right, no one is going to be awed by the noble, evil-slaying Harry Potter, Boy-Who-Lived. In a bittersweet way, Harry always did want for people not to care about his fame, heheheh. I am a bit confused as to your last question; did you want **me** to argue with your roommate? _

**Nataly S. Potter:**_ Viruses are annoying, aren't they? I'm sorry you have them, and sorry for the long wait for an update. I'm planning on finding a way to get Harry to understand Bulgarian, though you are right, it will take some time for him to understand the classes. Do you still live in Brazil? What's it like there? Unfortunately, I haven't ever left the North American continent, but am hoping to eventually._

**APS:**_ Glad to hear from you again!_

**Slivblue:** _You will eventually hear about Ron and Hermione, if maybe from their p.o.v, but you will hear of them via letters, and maybe a visit or two. However, it might not be for a while, since not all Universities accept students as quickly as Zotzion, in fact, you'll see why Harry got accepted so rapidly soon enough. Thanks for reviewing._

**One Phoenix:**_ Thank you for your support, in truth it helped me start thinking of this chapter, and thanks for reviewing as well.

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_

**Chapter 13: The Sponsor**

After two minutes, Harry stopped in his tracks with a sudden thought. The tailor had been here a while, he knew who Harry's sponsor was, so he would know where to find him! Rushing back, Harry skidded through the tailor's door; the older man looked up. "You again, eh? Forget something?"

"Iwaswonderingifyoucouldtellmewheremysponsor'sroomsare...Sir," Harry said breathlessly.

The tailor raised an eyebrow. "I might speak English, but I'm not that fast at it."

"Sorry, Sir." Harry said, blushing. "I was wondering if you could tell me where to find my sponsor; you see, he told me to be at his quarters in two hours, but that was about an hour ago, and I still don't have any idea where I'm going, Sir."

The tailor scratched his chin. "Usually I don't help newcomers out, letting them find their way is more educational for them." A knot tied in Harry's stomach. "But not many of them are polite, so I suppose I can help you out this once."

"Thank you, Sir." Harry said with relief, making a mental note to be polite to every person he met.

Going over to his desk, the tailor pulled out a quill, ink, and a blank piece of parchment, which he made a rough sketch on. There were three altogether, with labels in small, slightly messy, handwriting. He made a small 'x' on one room, and pointed at it with a knobby finger. "This is your Magister's greeting room, the rest he can show you at his leisure. To get there, go out of this room, take a left after the second stairwell, travel down that way for about five minutes until you come to an archway that has a chip on the left side, walk down that hallway until you get to the entrance hall you arrived in first." He traced the path with his finger as he spoke. "Go down this staircase, take the fifth right, then go past the first seven doors, take a left at the fork, and knock on the first door you see after seven hallways. Got it?"

_Not really,_ Harry thought, but answered, "Yes, Sir, and thank you, very much."

The tailor nodded and briskly handed him the map. "Don't let anyone see you with that, lad," he advised, "Or you'll regret ever asking me for help."

He nodded. "Yes, Sir."

"Off you go then."

Hurrying, Harry held the map out in front of him, but kept it close, and made his way down the increasingly chilly hallways. Despite the tailor's directions, he got lost about three times, but each time he was able to find his way again, thanks to the map, even if it was a little crude. Nevertheless, Harry clung to it like a lifeline. There would be no way he would have been able to find his Sponsor's rooms if the tailor hadn't agreed to help him.

As he stopped at the door after the seventh hall, Harry felt a rush of accomplishment, and knocked confidently on the door after tucking the map into his sleeve.The door openedopened, revealing a young man probably about three years younger than Harry—rather young for a student. He had black hair that was streaked with silver and honey brown eyes. His skin was pale, and his nose proudly arched. He looked Harry over, raised an eyebrow, then called something over his shoulder in Bulgarian. Moments later, Harry's Sponsor hobbled over, eyes narrowed. "You're late, boy." He snapped, thrusting the door open wider as the younger wizard went back inside.

Harry blinked; he couldn't have possibly spent an hour coming back from the tailor's! "But Sir I-" he began, only to be grabbed roughly by the arm and dragged inside.

"No excuses," the old man growled, shutting the door behind Harry with a glare. "Can't even find your way in an old castle," he harrumphed under his breath and let go of Harry's arm as he walked over to the entrance of another room. Harry stayed where he was, calming his temper and unsure if he should follow. The wizard glanced over his shoulder. "What are you waiting for, boy? Get your backside over here! I don't have all day, you imbecile!" Hurriedly, Harry followed his Magister, growing increasingly irritated with the old man. The room they went it was like a parlor room, which was decorated in brown and olive green, with black couches, large rugs done in great detail with washes of geometric shapes and mixes of dark blues, beiges, maroon, green, and bronze, and looked to be hand woven. There were tapestries on the walls, at least ten feet long and six feet wide, depicting scenery of Bulgarian mountains and magical creatures. The fireplace was dark grey rock, and sculpted out of it were serpents and dragons. It was a large room, with a vaulted ceiling, and crystal globes illuminating it; the walls had slight curves to them, but did not make a circle, more like a square with its corners rounded off. Harry was amazed at the detail in the rugs and stood staring at them for a moment, but apparently a moment was too long.

"What are you staring at, boy?" the Magister snapped, "Haven't you ever seen a rug before? Most likely better than anything you English can make, that's for certain!"

Harry stiffened at this insult to his citizenship, but remained silent, remembering his mental note to be polite.

"A question entails an answer boy!" the old man said irritably, leading him over to the couches. But as Harry opened his mouth, he continued, "And permission to speak is required as well!" He sniffed. "Don't they teach you manners, wherever you came from? Hand over your heart, boy, don't you know protocol?"

Obediently, though angrily, Harry placed a hand on the left side of his chest.

"Well? Speak up!"

"I have seen a rug before, Sir." Harry said stiffly. "And the English can make plenty of good things, Sir."

The Magister rolled his eyes. "That's all you had to say? One sentence defenses will not convince anybody! Really, what in the world do they teach you over there? How to fill your heads with sawdust? Bah!" Harry gritted his teeth and said nothing. The Magister seated himself, but made no motion for Harry to do so, so the young wizard remained standing. "You will address me as Sir or Magister, understand, boy?" he said gruffly. "But for future reference, others know me as Magister Dareios; you remember that boy, I won't have a fool for an underling." Harry opened his mouth, but closed it and nodded instead. Dareios took no note of his efforts of respect, but merely looked at theother younger wizard, who nodded and vanished into another room. "This is one of the three rooms in my quarters that you are allowed to go in," Dareios continued, not even looking at Harry. "The others are the room that will be assigned for your use and the study. If you want touse a library, go find one in the University. I won't waste my time showing you around; get someone else to help you."

A moment later, the young lad came back in with three other wizards and one witch, all whom wore robes bearing Dareios' crest. They formed a neat line and bowed slightly to their Sponsor, who nodded in return, looking at them with considerably more liking than he did Harry. The witch had golden blonde hair and copper brown eyes, fair skin, a slim frame, and calm features. Two of the wizards were twins, bothhad short, spiky black hair with auburn highlights, solid builds, and both were considerably taller than Harry, at least six foot five; the only real difference between them was that one had brown eyes and the other had black—not much of an alteration. The last sponsored wizard was dark skinned, with clear grey eyes, broad shoulders, a small, neatly and closely trimmed beard, a hard expression, and wore his black hair in many small tight braids, each with a black bead at the ends.

"Anastasia-" the girl nodded- "Matthias-" the brown-eyed twin- "Nikodemus-" the second twin- "And Ivaylo." The dark wizard barely inclined his head, eyeing Harry with dislike. "They are your fellows, and you will treat them with respect as you will me." Dareios said something to them in Bulgarian, and they each replied. After he thought for a moment and nodded, they left, either back to their rooms or whatever they were doing. The youngest wizard remained behind. The robes he wore bore a different symbol from Harry's, but it had Dareios' dragon emblem on the sleeve. "This is Sergei," Dareios said, nodding to the young teen. "He will show you to your room when we are done, now come and sit down."

It was a great relief to rest his feet, but Harry managed to keep in his sigh; Dareios would most likely berate him for expressing comfort in any shape or form. The Sponsor in question was looking at Harry with hard eyes, and Harry got a good look at his Magister. He had a grey beard that reached down to his shoulders about, accompanied by smooth silver hair that reached his collarbone. His eyes were an extremely dark blue, so dark that they bore a close resemblance to a starless midnight sky. There were deep crows feet at the corner of his eyes and craggy lines at the edges of his mouth; both spoke of hard times seen and ages of knowledge. However, it was hard to tell just how old Dareios is, and Harry certainly wasn't about to ask him.

"What languages can you speak?" Dareios asked abruptly.

Harry blinked. Languages? "English, Sir." He replied.

"Anything else?"

"Er...no Sir."

"Bah, they don't teach you anything down at those 'schools' of yours." He grumbled; Harry's cheeks flushed in anger. "What subjects did you learn about?"

Annoyed at the insult to Hogwarts, Harry thought of every subject he could that he'd learned even the slightest bit of. "Potions, Transfiguration, Care of Magical Creatures, History, Astronomy, Charms, Defense, Muggle Studies, Divination, and Herbology, Sir." He said. Okay, so he hadn't actually taken the Muggle Studies class, but he knew enough about it to pass for one who had studied it.

Dareios sniffed. "All in one year?"

"Each year, Sir."

"Bah, too many subjects! You need to focus on a tight group! Get knowledge of the topic into your mind! Defense? Humph, defense won't win a duel; divination? It does nothing for anyone. Who needs to know the location of stars? Or what has passed? Bah, that school of yours knew nothing of teaching."

Harry fumed inwardly. "I learned a bit of Occlumency too, Sir." He said, not really knowing why.

Dareios glared at him, though there was a bit of curiosity in his gaze. "Protocol boy! You don't speak unless spoken too!"

"Yes, Sir." Harry said, fighting not to grit his teeth.

Dareios pulled his robes slightly closer around himself. "I will not be your soul teacher, thank Demetirov; no, other subjects will fall to some of the Magisters. However, I will be the one who trains you in what you learn, I will be the one whom decides when you are ready to progress, when you are ready to be tested, when you are allowed to go off campus, and when you are ready to graduate." He cleared his throat. "However, that will be some time in coming, and even though I would rather consider you ready now to be done with you, I value my own reputation more, and will not go down in history as the man who had a famous dunderhead for a student; is that clear?"

"Yes Sir." Harry replied, a knot in his gut. Dareios didn't like him, that was obvious, but why? Why did the Elder make him sponsor Harry? Why did Dareios have to be so...well, stiff and annoying? All Harry really knew was that this was going to be one annoying, long, hard process. He wondered when he would finally be able to research Horcruxes, if ever.

"Now, we will start tonight by reviewing what you know of the Dark Arts, Bulgaria, and Zotzion..."

_I'll make it,_ Harry thought rebelliously, _even if it takes a decade, I'll make it, and make Voldemort and Snape regret ever messing with me._


	14. Yogurt and Yakov

**Review Responses:**

**MinorMistake99: **_Don't worry, I think school does that to all of us, lol. And you conveyed in your last review about being a faithful reader, for which I am thankful for; I had hit a slight writer's block, sometimes a death of a family member can do that—ack, bad joke, nvm. Basically, I wasn't quite sure, since I don't have this fic planned out already like my other stories, but now I know what to do, for the most part. Yes, the Harry bashing begins soon! Yay!_

**Sylvia Snape**: _first off, thanks for reviewing and your comments, I really appreciate them. You're on to something with the Parsletongue part though, I'll give you that, though nothing else. It will come into play, and it might become a...a little surprise for my readers as to how it does. grin. Harry's friends and Diega will come into play a little after Harry gets settled at Zotzion (well, as settled as he can be in a school for the Dark Arts, lol). Thanks for your review, as always._

**Lordheaven:**_ I know I sent a reply to you through e-mail, but I still want to thank you again for your advice, very, very much! I was wondering if you could tell me if I'm doing an OK job of writing down the way Bulgarians speak, I'm not all that great with accents. Thanks again!_

**Nataly S. Potter: **_Sorry about the short length, I had a bit of a writer's block the past week or so, I'll try to make the following chapters longer from now on out. I live in the United States, and have only lived in one state: Arizona. It can get extremely hot here, but if you go a couple hours north, it gets much cooler because there are more mountains. Where I live, we don't get snow, but again, if you go up north, there's some in winter. I also lived in Canada for a while, there it snowed a lot! But it often got too cold to snow! Arizona is beautiful at sunset and dawn, the sky changes into all these different colors, and the light is reflected onto everything else, it's almost like the sky is paint, and it's dripping onto the ground and houses below it. I'd like to see Brazil, I have a Spanish teacher who's gone there, and she's got pictures of her travels; I agree with you, it does look very beautiful. Thank you for reading and reviewing, as always._

**One Phoenix: **_Thanks for reading all of my stories, I'm glad some people have the initiative to not just stick with one story that the author has written. _

**Uknowho:**_ Glad that you like the characters, and thanks for reviewing.

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_A/N: Wow, half of page of responses! Okay, I think it's time to move onto the story, don't you? Lol. Thanks for reading, as always, --A. S. Leif _

**Chapter 14: Yogurt and Yakov  
**

Harry rolled over in his sleep, exhausted from yesterday. He'd gotten up early, traveled to Zotzion, and stayed up until practically dawn, answering whatever questions he could that were thrown at him by Dareios. The Sponsor, of course, still was not convinced that Hogwarts had any idea about teaching, especially when it came to the Dark Arts. In his Sponsor's eyes, Harry had no talent for memory, and was not impressed by the knowledge of Bulgaria that the young wizard had been able to squeeze in before his arrival. _I go from one place that everyone knows me,_ he'd thought as he'd gone to bed, _to another where everyone already hates me...whoopee._ At least in sleep he could get away from the world, into his dreams where no one bothered him, disliked him, stared at him, or questioned him. In his dreams he could relax; ignorance really was bliss.

Opening his eyes a tiny crack, he saw that it was approaching dawn outside, and stuffed his head under the pillow; he could probably squeeze another hour or two of sleep in before he had to get up. Oh was he in for a rude awakening—literally. Half of his brain registered the fact that his door had opened, but he automatically dismissed it as Remus, momentarily forgetting where he was. That would cost him, as a bucket of water was dumped over him. "_AIYAA!"_ he yelped, springing out of bed in record time. Drenched and shivering, he glared at the cruel person who would choose to wake someone in such an inhuman way. It was the young boy, Sergei, who held the wooden bucket with his eyes filled with mirth, a slight smirk on his face. "Magister Dareios says he will not be your alarm clock, and if you did not wake when I opened the door, to wake you myself in warning."

"Y-you c-could-dn't of ch-chosen a-a _warmmmmer_ w-way of doing i-it?" Harry growled through chattering teeth.

Sergei gave a wicked grin, "If you think _that_ is cold, wait until you go outside for training in winter." With that he left, a bounce in his step as he shut the door.

Harry's wand fell from his freezing fingers when he tried to grip it, a third try let him succeed, and he cast a drying charm on himself, followed by one on his bed; unfortunately, it was still damp. Scowling, he changed into his uniform, and felt somewhat warmer, and thanking Merlin for the boots—they quickly defrosted his feet. As he got dressed, he looked around at the room he'd been given.

It was about the same size as his room at home with Remus, but circular and made of stone; the color theme was mostly dark blues and light tan. Most of the floor was covered by the incredibly-woven rugs similar to the ones he'd seen in Dareios' main room. There was also a small desk, a bookcase, and a wardrobe, all made of mahogany. Torches were hung on the walls, but the main source of light in the afternoon would be the large, arched window on the wall opposite Harry's bed. The bed itself was comfortable, and the covers were thick enough that he wouldn't freeze at night, though he wasn't sure if he would survive the mornings. Shaking his head, Harry grabbed his wand and map, pocketed them, and exited his room.

His door was one of several in the hall leading off of the main room; all of them were entrances to the other students' rooms, though two led to the bathrooms available for their use. Rubbing his hands together in order to warm them, Harry hurried out to the main room, where the others were already waiting, along with Dareios and Sergei. "Late again, boy." Dareios grumbled and his eyes narrowed. "Don't you brush your hair in the morning?"

"Er-"

"Protocol, boy!"

With an inner sigh, Harry placed a hand over his heart.

"Yes?"

"I do, Sir, but it's always messy—I got it from my father."

"I don't need to know your lineage, boy," Dareios said waspishly, "But you'll find a way to keep your hair in order; no scraggly appearances in my presence, understand?"

Harry nodded, "Yes Sir."

"Now, breakfast is served in twenty minutes in the main hall. Ivaylo will show you the way, but after today, you must find it on your own, we will not wait for you. He will also be showing you to your classes, the ones you do not have with me, and to the more important places in the castle. Again, after today, you must find your way on your own; understood?"

"Yes Sir."

"Good, Ivaylo-" His speech broke off into Bulgarian, so Harry did not understand a word. The dark-skinned wizard hesitated, but bowed and replied, accepting whatever it was that Dareios asked of him. Then the other students and Sergei left with Dareios, to somewhere other than the main hall, Harry presumed. Ivaylo stood observing Harry for several long minutes, and the younger teen barely kept himself from fidgeting in the silence.

"Let us go." Ivaylo said abruptly, his voice slightly deeper than Harry's, though without any hint of an accent of all; he led the way briskly out the door, not looking back to see if Harry was following, which he hurried to do.

The silence was not a comfortable one, so Harry tried to strike up a conversation with his new...school mate. "So...how long have you been at Zotzion?"

"Longer than you." Was the blunt reply.

_Go figure,_ Harry grumbled to himself.

"Where are from originally? Bulgaria? Greece?"

"It does not matter."

Harry lapsed into silence until he could think of another question. "Do you like it here?"

"Again, it does not matter."

He sighed quietly. "I take it you're not much of a talker."

Ivaylo stopped and looked at Harry with hard eyes. "Listen, and listen well. I am not your friend, your ally, your confidante, or anything other than an elder student here. As Magister Dareios commanded, you will treat me respectively, and I shall eventually do the same, once you have proven yourself that you are worthy of being Magister Dareios' student."

"He wouldn't of chosen me-" Harry began angrily.

"He chose you because he was forced," Ivaylo interrupted. "The Elder won a bet against him, the price was that he Sponsored you. You were accepted within a week, as a joke, a form of amusement for the Elder and other Magisters," he snorted, "The rest of us were chosen after several months, even years of applying and testing. Until you prove yourself, I will be nothing other than a guide today and a student tomorrow; do you understand?"

Harry stiffened. "Yes, Ivaylo."

The taller student nodded, turned sharply around and continued walking. Harry wasn't quite sure if he'd made his first enemy or not as they traveled in silence. Occasionally, Ivaylo would point out a small landmark or room that would assist Harry in navigating through the large castle and its winding hallways; he hoped he would remember it all well enough to write down on his map, when in private of course—he remembered the tailor's warning.

Their brisk pace kept the chill of the stone halls at bay, even though Harry's breath fogged faintly in the air; Ivaylo seemed unaffected by the temperature, for all he had on was his uniform and a robe much thinner than Harry's cloak. At last they arrived in the hall that Harry had entered and been Sponsored in. There were fewer tables than at Hogwarts, but the setup was mostly the same. The Magisters' crests were placed on the walls behind where they sat, and a larger one depicting the Elders' crest was behind the largest chair at the table. The other tables had no indication of whether or not the sponsored students were supposed to sit at a certain place. When Ivaylo left him to sit at a table with the other students sponsored by Dareios, as well as a few others who did not have the same crest, Harry figured that it wouldn't matter where he sat.

Looking around and trying not to be too obvious, Harry found a table that didn't have too many people, and sat down at the emptier side, while trying to avoid the glances of the others seated at the table. They observed him subtly out of the corners of their eyes, while chatting with each other in Bulgarian, Greek, or Italian. If Harry hadn't felt like an outsider before, he certainly did now, especially when he saw the food.

He didn't really know what any of it was, there was a lot of bread, yogurt, fruit, and cheese, and the pitchers held liquids that he didn't recognize either. _Might as well try it out,_ he thought, and took a few pieces of cheese and bread. Looking at one of his choices, the bread was cracked in places on the outside, but was incredibly soft—if coarse—on the inside. Taking a bite, flavor burst into his mouth. _Now I see why they eat a lot of bread,_ he thought with a slight grin to himself.

"You should try the yogurt," said a soft voice with a Bulgarian accent that wasn't too thick, but still very noticeable.

Harry swallowed and looked up. Sitting across from him was a teenage wizard about his age, with light brown hair that was slightly mussed, friendly features, a rather thin, bony frame, and blue-green eyes that hid behind large circular glasses, along with a pointed nose, giving him an owlish, startled expression. A slim hand held a book, while the other was placing some cheese on his plate. "Umm... which one?" Harry asked; there were several dishes of yogurt. "Are they all the same?"

The teen smiled. "No, but I suggest zat you try the one in the blue dish—it's thinner than the others, and probably closer to vhat you're used to."

"Oh, thanks." Harry carefully spooned some of the yogurt into a bowl and took a cautious slurp (_a/n: I'm not sure how else to describe the process of eating yogurt, lol.)_. His eyes widened slightly; he'd found a new favorite food. He swallowed. "This stuff is _good_!"

His new companion smiled again. "Bulgaria is known for many things, yogurt especially. I'm Yakov," he offered a hand to shake.

Harry took it, "Nice to meet you, I'm Harry."

"Nice to meet you too, Harry."

Harry looked at the other foods as he munched on the bread he'd taken first. After swallowing he asked, "What other things do you recommend?"

"Vell, ajran is a good drink—it's in the second pitcher, and the vhite cheese on zat platter," he nodded at a circular plate on Harry's left, "is also one of my favorites."

Harry looked curiously at the ajran he poured into his goblet. "If you don't mind me asking, what's in this stuff?"

Again Yakov smiled. "Drink, and vind out."

Harry took a cautious sip and contemplated it for a moment, while Yakov watched in amusement, his friendly eyes smiling behind his large glasses. "It tastes like...I dunno...yogurt."

"It is yogurt," he said, grinning, "Ajran is a mixture of vater and different... qualities of yogurt."

"I take it that Bulgarians like yogurt?"

He chuckled. "Yes indeed, along vith several other things, all of vhich you shall taste at later meals."

"So how long have you been at Zotzion?" Harry asked, taking another sip of the new drink, ajran—he wasn't sure about his opinion of it quite yet.

"This vill be my second year," Yakov said, sprinkling a powder over his bread. "I va born in Bulgarian, and lived in France for three years before this, and went to Courageuxbras Academy; vat of you?"

"Well, I went to Hogwarts before this," Harry explained, "And this is obviously my first year. Who were you Sponsored by?"

Yakov glanced at his sleeve, which was embroidered with a blue triangle, in which a white griffon reared, wings spread wide, ferocious beak open. Behind it was a crescent moon in silver, with two arrows crossed below. "By Magister Aleksandrina," he said quietly.

Looking up at the Magister table, Harry scanned the wall for the matching crest. It rested behind a stern-looking woman with curly brown hair, held back tight in a braid. Her thin lips did not seem to smile often, any more than her keen grey eyes did. "Is she..." Harry searched for a word. "Easy to work with?"

Yakov's smile was somewhat bitter. "She took me as a favor to my father, who vas an old friend of hers. When I came to Zotzion, she Sponsored me—no one else had offered."

Harry sighed. "We're in the same boat then."

His slightly-bushy eyebrows rose. "How is that?"

"Dar-Magister Dareios didn't want to Sponsor me, anymore than any of the others," Harry explained quietly. "Apparently, I was only Sponsored by him because he lost a bet to the Elder, or something like that."

"Who told you zat?"

"Another of my fellows, the one who's showing me around today. Apparently he doesn't quite like me—I'm not sure any of them do."

"Then we are definitely in the same boat," Yakov agreed with a smile. The other students began to get to their feet. "I suppose classes are about to begin, Harry. It vas nice meeting you." He offered his hand as they stood.

Harry took it and gave it a firm shake with a smile. "Same, Yakov."

His new—and probably only—friend left, following the others who bore the same crest on their robes, down a hall Harry hadn't learned yet. Someone cleared their throat behind him, and Harry turned to see Ivaylo waiting for him. "Come, I am to show you the way to our first class."

"What's that?" Harry asked as they walked briskly from the hall.

"You will see soon enough."

Harry held back a sigh; he was missing Yakov already.

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_A/N: Okay, so maybe not too much longer than the other chapters, but I'm getting there. I'll try to either do longer chapters or update along my usual once-a-week schedule; which would you, my dear readers, prefer? Thanks, as always, for reading, and I look forward to hearing from all of you! – A. S. Leif _


	15. The First Magister

**Review Responses:**

**Nataly S. Potter:**_ Yakov is a nice character, and Ivaylo is a bad-mood sort of person, but maybe he'll lighten up later, just maybe. Most schools in the United States start in August and end in June, but my school starts late in July and Ends in early June. I am still in school, and in my 10th year. My sister starts university next year, it's somewhat creepy for me. I think it's interesting as to how you started getting into Spanish, I've only seen the Harry Potter books in French and English before. Well, thank you for reviewing, and I'm sorry for the long delay in updates, finals are coming up, and with them _tons_ of homework._

**LordHeaven: **_Thanks for your suggestions in regards to accents, I'll start using them soon, if not in this chapter. Out of curiosity, how do you think Harry would react to Rakia? I like mountains very much, and would be very happy to see some of them in Bulgaria. I've always wanted to travel but, well, school is a drag, as always. Thanks for reviewing._

**MinorMistake99:**_ I can understand your animosity towards the students of Zotzion, and most of them aren't going to be all that friendly or trustworthy to Harry, as you will see in the chapter(s) to come. However, our opinions on Yakov will remain...well, not compared since I don't feel like revealing all of his character just yet; there is more to him than you might think grin. I'm _extremely_ sorry about the near-month-long delay, school has become increasingly difficult; I have several papers all due soon, two projects, finals to study for, homework assigned in the dozen-page-groups, and the my job at the stables to deal with too...bleh. Unfortunately, until the holidays arrive, I might not be able to update as soon as I would usually, but I **will** try to make them longer; I don't think it will be too much of a problem, or rather, I hope. Thank you for reading and reviewing, as always!_

**To All Readers: **_I'm sorry for the delay, school and finals were horrible, then the stupid internet wasn't working, and then I got horribly sick, bleh! I know this chapter might not be much, but please, I've cranked it out in a last-minute-desperation to get something done before Christmas. I'm working on several other stories that I'm not sure whether or not I want to post, and dealing with all the holiday-wacky-relatives sort of thing going on. My deepest apologies and gratitude for your amazing patience, I'll try to pick up the pace. Sincerely, A.S.Leif

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**Chapter 15: The First Magister**

There was absolutely no way Harry was going to be able to remember his way around this place; if only he had photographic memory... There were endless twists and turns, multitudes of spinning and towering stairwells that had railings seeming to be made of wire alone, and dimly lit halls reaching down into the heart of the chaotic castle that was Zotzion. Ivaylo kept up a brisk pace, first stopping by their rooms in Dareios' quarters in order to allow Harry to get his book bag and writing utensils; he didn't have any texts at the moment.

That done, they left and traveled to the far eastern side of the enormous, intimidating castle, arriving at last in a large, hexagonal room at the base of a winding tower, which was connected to another by one of those thin bridges Harry had seen upon his arrival at the school. In this room was a group of desks in the center, which the students arriving seated themselves at, all facing another, larger desk: the Magister's. On the walls were beautifully detailed rugs and ceramics on shelves, depicting objects and plants within the patterns. Harry tore his gaze away to look at the rest of the room. On various bookshelves sat bundles of herbs, small and large trinkets that buzzed with magical potency, old scrolls, and tomes that were bound in most black and brown leather. Too far away to see properly, Harry thought he saw a skull on one of the shelves...creepy.

As he was looking around and the other students seated themselves, he caught snatches of quiet conversation—in foreign languages of course. Waiting, he thought about the way the students held themselves in this class, so to speak. They didn't seem uneasy, or dead-silent, so the Magister probably wasn't too strict. _I wonder what he'll be teaching us,_ Harry thought, just before the door at the top of a small staircase behind the Magister's desk opened. Out stepped a woman in her mid-thirties, with auburn hair that was more red than brown, naturally tan skin, an emotionless face, and eyes the color of tarnished gold. She was around Harry's height, if maybe half an inch shorter—tall none the less. Her robes were light, like Ivaylo's, showing a habituated feeling towards the weather, which was still bitterly cold in Harry's opinion.

The students fell silent at her entrance and settled their hands on their desks, empty of any object; Harry did the same. The Magister walked—though her long robes made it look to him like she was gliding—to her desk and read off the list of names, glancing at each face of whoever answered. Harry took note that the students did not speak until she had added a Bulgarian word after their name; more protocol, it seemed. "Potter, H." she called and then added the permission.

"Here." He answered in quiet English.

She glanced at him as one would look at a fly on opposite side of the glass: without interest, and small notice. He breathed an inner sigh of relief; at least she didn't hate him.

However, after the roll call was finished, she continued to speak in Bulgarian. Harry panicked; how was he supposed to understand what she was saying? The other students weren't having a problem, even the other new ones, which were a total of three others.

The others got out parchment and quills, so Harry did the same. The Magister stood up and walked over to an ink-black chalkboard and began to write; the students copied it down—thank Merlin, it was in English. "For those of you who have not taken the emancipation to educate yourself in the language of this university," she said while writing, her voice lightly accented, but otherwise empty of any interesting trait or emotion, "I am Magister Silviya, and this is the class of Magical Artifact Properties. In it you shall study the usefulness of various levels and powers in our endeared Shadowed Arts. Many of them cannot be used on their own, others can only be used so. To begin, the topic of today is the artifact of the Lezar Horn; which is? Clydesarok."

A dark-skinned wizard nearing twenty and sitting next to Ivaylo answered in a rather deep voice, "An artifact derived from the plant after which it is named, containing properties of various proportions, from gravitational abilities to enforcing the death of the mind."

Magister Silviya nodded and there was a flurry of scratching quills as the newer students rushed to write down the information. Harry, having forgotten to get out his ink, was in the process of retrieving it when she moved on to list the properties and what it was often mistaken for. He'd just uncapped his ink when he heard, "Potter?"

He looked up and found the Magister looking at him. "Yes, Magister?"

Her level gaze was strangely unnerving to Harry. "I asked you a question, Mr. Potter-" she repeated it again, but in Bulgarian.

Harry's cheeks flushed. "I don't understand Bulgarian, Magister."

"You should have thought of the consequences of ignorance before you applied, Potter." She said stiffly.

"I didn't-" he began to protest, but was silenced by glares from the other students and a cold look from the Magister.

"Excuses are not tolerated," she said, and turned to write on the board again, speaking in Bulgarian.

As she brought out a plant that looked like an extremely large, white and red thorn, Harry wondered, _why, why didn't I pay attention in Herbology?_

Two hours later, the class ended, though not by any bell Harry could hear. He sullenly packed his things up, having not understood a word the entire lesson, and unable to answer any of the questions she had put on the board, in English too. _I have **got** to learn Bulgarian, _he moaned in his head repeatedly. Ivaylo walked over to him.

"Your next lesson will be with Magister Dareios, in his quarters. Do not sit until he arrives, is that clear?"

Confused, Harry decided that it had to do something with the ever-constant Protocol that his sponsor had harped about yesterday and this morning. "Alright." Before he could ask for a quick idea of which direction to go, Ivaylo had left with others of his year. _Dang it..._

"Potter."

He turned around and saw the Magister looking at him. "Yes Magister?" he replied.

"Why are you here at Zotzion?" she asked flatly.

He blinked. "To study, Magister."

"Study what?"

"The Dark Arts, Magister."

She raised an eyebrow. "I see. Why?"

A lump of rebellion rose in his throat. "With all due respect Magister, that's my own decision and not for you to know."

For a moment he thought he'd gone a step too far, and it seemed like the bland Magister was going to blow up at him for disrespecting an elder. But she didn't. Her face went rapidly from pale to a slight tan, then back again, for a reason unknown to Harry himself. There was an awkward silence. "You will do well under Magister Dareios' tutelage, I think." She said finally, and walked back to her desk, leaving a thoroughly confused student to make his way


	16. Shadow Practice

**Review Responses:**

**Lordheaven:**_ Heh, I can imagine Harry's face the way you described it. How strong do you think the Rakia should be? I'm not really familiar with how 'strength' is determined with it. Think you could help me out? Your hint about the various 'side effects' intrigued me. Eventually Harry might earn some respect, though you're right—he is going to have one heck of a job earning it! Yakov will come into play with that. Harry's Parslemouth ability will have a part to play, heh—and quite a part it will be. A nasty little shock for dear Dareios...but I won't say anymore than that; have to keep up the suspense, you know? I hope this chapter is bigger than the last, it's hard to tell until you update it. I was wondering, what is Bulgaria like during the different seasons? As is mentioned by Dareios in this chapter, Harry's training will be influenced by the time of year. Do you think you could describe it for me? That'll help with the plan I'm working on. Thanks a lot for your help and your reviews! _

**MinorMistake99:**_ Thanks for your support, as always._

**Thanks also to:**_ Tersios, ForeverUsed, and OnePhoenix for your reviews!

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**Chapter 16: Shadow Practice**

When Harry exited the Artifact Properties classroom after the other students had left, he pulled out his map and scribbled everything Ivaylo had told him earlier that he could still remember—not very much, but enough for him to make his way slowly back to Dareios' quarters. It took him at least ten minutes, but that in itself was a grand accomplishment from Harry's point of view. Apparently, it wasn't enough for his Sponsor. The moment Harry entered the room, his mind set on remaining standing as Ivaylo had told him, his pride in finding his way back had been crushed by the protocol-harping Magister Dareios.

"You're late, boy!" he snapped, drumming his fingers impatiently on the arm of his chair. "Your class isn't leagues away—Ivaylo was here already and gone by the time you got here. What are you, a slug? Use those feet of yours! Now come over here."

Harry obediently walked over to the chair facing his Sponsor, but did not sit until Dareios nodded for him to do so.

"At least you've got a speck of protocol in your dust-filled head," the old wizard muttered under his breath, then looked sharply at his student. "What did you learn of Zotzion?"

Harry opened his mouth, then remembered and hurriedly placed a hand over his heart. Receiving permission to speak, he relayed everything Dareios had told him from the previous night; well, as much as he could recall. Again, it wasn't enough, and Dareios berated his lack of memorization skills before reminding him harshly of the essay-length's-worth of information that Harry had been expected to remember in a matter of hours. "Well?" he barked. "Why didn't you write that down?"

Harry quickly got out his parchment, quill, ink, and a book to use as a hard surface. He'd seen the others carrying a clipboard-like device; he'd ask Yakov about them at lunch. By the time Harry was able to write down the things he had forgotten about Zotzion, Dareios had moved on to a lecture about what it was that he was going to be teaching Harry, while expertly ignoring the frustration of his young pupil.

"As you should know, no student who steps foot on the campus of Zotzion University leaves until they have passed all testing and reached their limits of their abilities for the magicks which they have learned. You will have three other main tutors for these three subjects: Creatures, Artifact Properties, and Theory of Magic. Each Magister there will have their own tests for you, testing how well you have gathered what they have taught."

_I won't get far if they teach like Silviya, in Bulgarian or some other language,_ Harry thought morosely.

"I will teach you the rest," Dareios continued, "And the subjects, while few, will be very in depth. You will learn to increase your status; as in agility, endurance, power, etcetera. These traits will be honed through both magical and physical training in all conditions. You will work hard, or you will break and fail, as many have done before you, and many will no doubt do after you."

Harry's hands tensed at the challenge implied. He would prove that he wasn't weak, that he could do anything these others could do... he continued to write down the lecture in shorthand.

"I will also be instructing you in the art of rituals, spells, lore, and potions which have great use and effectiveness in our Arts." Harry's hand jerked at the mention of potions, which reminded him of a particularly treacherous ex-professor... "I will teach you inner strength, how to find it, how to recognize it, and how to use it; that alone will decide whether or not you succeed in remaining who you are."

Harry looked at him. What did he mean by that? But the Magister went on, offering Harry no chance to ask.

"You will also learn various techniques that are valuable in battle. The elements of surprise, stealth, speed, and secrets—all are precious tools that must be perfected, and createdandperfectedin various means and guises. In addition to those subjects, I will teach you some of the Magical Laws that govern most societies. As you are not Bulgarian, you will not be familiar with much of it, and will no doubt be unable to comprehend the purposes of it." He added the last part disdainfully, aggravating Harry further. But the young wizard remained silent, his quill scribbling away. Dareios paused, and if Harry hadn't been looking down furiously at his paper, he would have seen a questioning, cautious, and even nervous look in Dareios' dark blue eyes. But that look vanished the moment Harry's quill stopped, and the Magister went on.

"Training programs will change with the seasons, though some subjects will always remain present. It is _your_ responsibility to take care of any forgetfulness that is clearly embedded in you, and therefore _you_ must take it upon yourself to relearn anything that might be forgotten from your mind. You have certain study periods for your own use, which you can use to complete whatever work you choose; but choose wisely. Wasted effort or time is the act of an idiot, and I doubt that you wish to remain one." Harry swallowed his anger, but it was hard; he took his anger out on his paper, writing hard and wrathfully.

"As for rules... Should you disobey or disrespect any Magister or Elder, you will be given a number of demerits, the amount will depend upon how grievous the offense. The more you earn, the more dire your punishment work." He looked Harry hard in the eye. "I will not stand for trouble makers, understand boy? Should you give me any reason to believe that you are not in line, you _will_ have a consequence to match. Clear?"

Harry nodded, teeth clenched. "Yes Sir."

Dareios looked shrewdly at him, as if he very much doubted Harry's sincerity. With a sniff, he returned to his lecture. "Very well. Now, for the next three hours, you will be training in these quarters, and then two of your fellows shall arrive, and another session shall begin. For starters, we shall go over the basics of using the Dark Arts and their history. Later today, you will need to find the appropriate texts with which to study from. I will give you no lists, and no two students share the exact same sources." He seemed to be a warning against asking another student for help. Great, more 'earning your way' protocol stuff...how wonderful...

Dareios steepled his fingers and began again, his voice taking on a less-harsh, but still strict tone. His voice was consistent and—as Harry grudgingly forced himself to admit —he took teaching seriously, and would be a good teacher, if only Harry could keep his temper reigned in which- he thought privately- he was doing well enough at; but the protocol was murder already.

The grey-haired wizard told Harry of the discoveries of ancient warlocks in regards to the use and foundation of Dark magic. It was in Africa, where it had been 'born'. An offset in the balance of life had brought strange influences to work, too many people had weighed up, and something had to be done. The offset had improved the good nature of life, the Light, as it had come to be known. There were too many sunny days, too many crops, too many woods, too much water, and too much land. The magic that was the life of all things had grown to an alarming amount, and it had to be corrected. The people of the Light, who had powers that assisted in this growth, had used their magic to keep the seemingly prosperous traits of the world continuous, when in truth they were only damaging their world. Thus, the Shadow was born.

It was a magic of its own. It had different powers, different strengths and weaknesses, and different practitioners. The Shadow magic swept over the world. It brought cleansing fires to the woods, eliminating the threat of uncontrolled wildfires caused by lightning. Floods and torrents of rain and ice swallowed masses of land, creating new habitats for aquatic creatures and people. Droughts created new plots of land in wasted waters, turning waste liquid into solid purchase, good for life to grow. The sun was covered by clouds, easing the brightness and watering the thirsty land. Winds tore the crops that would have spread numerous diseases by those who ate them. The Purging Shadow, its work done, lifted from the world, but it was not forgotten. It remained, and came to life when the Light had overgrown, it returned to restore the balance.

"For even in the dawn, there are shadows." Dareios said, "Even with life, there is death. All things need another to balance them out. That is the nature of the universe. As more and more people began to use the Light, the Shadow was weakened; too many were against it. And then, the people of ancient times began to realize the true gift of the Shadow magic. It could weaken what Light could not. It could grant the power over the land, the waters, the air, andeven the mind. Where the Light was weak, Shadow was strong. And its power could only grow. For there cannot be Light without a Shadow, but in the absence of Light, there is _always_ Shadow. This is what they realized; this is what lured the warlocks to the Arts. It brought them in large numbers, and the balance was restored.

"But everyone fears what they do not understand, and there were those whom could not comprehend what the Shadow was. As time went on, the Shadow's power grew, and more magicks, more variations of it appeared. They flourished in the age of learning, methods erupted around the globe. Shadow was the rising side. And yet balance was still required. As more and more people began to practice the Shadow Arts, which until then had been used equally along with the Light, the power that was clear in them began to confuse the Light practitioners. They feared it; they made no attempt to understand it. Then the Shadow warlocks found new powers that allowed them to do extraordinary things. They could bring the dead to life. They could save others from death. Allat grave prices, but it worked. The Light could not do such things. The acts of the Shadows were seen as evil. They rioted against them. The Shadows fell from grace as the belief grew. Their acts were seen as tainted, evil. And thus, the Dark Arts were born in the eyes of the Light, and the balance has never been quite the same."

Dareios fell silent, and so did Harry's quill. Harry had been strangely entranced by the tale, which had lasted a good hour. While listening, he had been writing down the various names of famous Shadow practitioners, the deeds they had done, and the time they had performed them, along with the place, as Dareios had described him. But this conclusion, it stunned him. He could not bring himself to believe it all. The Dark Arts were...they were _evil_. They only brought pain, agony, death... Had they really once been used to bring those who had been lost, back? Even from the cold clutches of Death? His thoughts turned to Sirius. If he studied, if he found the old ways...he could bring him back. Maybe even his parents!

But at a grave price...

The thought rose unbidden, a warning, turning him from that path. _No._ He thought furiously. _Things happen for a reason. Thinking that way is what made Voldemort. I am **nothing** like Voldemort!_ His hands trembled slightly with rage, but Dareios did not notice. No, the Magister was staring into the empty fireplace, a strange glazed look in his eyes. He seemed to be remembering something. It was the look of someone who was remembering the past, something they wanted to forget, something that they regretted...

Something that had to do with the boy sitting before him.


	17. Control

**Review Responses:**

**Junky:**_ Heh, I do enjoy writing cliff-hangers of all subtleties and twists. Who knows what Dareios is thinking? Well, except myself anyway. grin Thanks for your review._

**Lordheaven:**_ Wow! You're amazing at describing seasons; I could picture it all in my head as if I were there! Heh, now I want to go to Bulgaria! Maybe when I graduate after college, XD. As for you opinion of the Darkness/Shadow title, I agree with you that Dark and Light are neutral save for the way people use them. However, with the transformation from Shadow Arts to Dark Arts in mind, I had to come up with a term that would seem less... 'evil' for lack of a better term. What I mean by that is that there is a widely biased opinion of the Dark Arts, as is clear in Harry's opinion of it only bringing fear, pain, and death. In order to make the Arts seem not so 'evil', I had to find a way to explain that it was the darker side of the balance, yet still not seem too much like the bad-evil-magic that Harry and other wizards of the Light are used to. Yes, Shadows are created only in light, but that is exactly the hidden meaning that Harry will eventually learn while attending Zotzion. I can't tell you too much, otherwise the story will be spoiled slightly, but I can tell you this. 'Forever there is light, forever there is dark. The way you use them is the form of art, and the action forever the heart's. Void of light, void of dark, void of any life at all; resulting in the end of all, even death shall have its fall.' A simple rhyme or riddle, depending on the way you look at it, but that is the only way I am going to explain my choice of words until the time comes in the story. I'd appreciate any photos of Bulgaria that you could offer, and if you go to my profile and click the **'email'** word near the top, it will give you my e-mail. Thanks again for reviewing!_

**Thanks also to: **_ForeverUsed, Her-My-Oh-Knee, mrmistoffelees, andDragonic__for your reviews.

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**Chapter 17: Control**

Harry was finishing up his notes and trying not to think about the disturbing idea he'd had about bringing his parents and godfather back. Those thoughts would only make him a monster, and he still had a long way to go before graduating Zotzion. _I'll just have to make it,_ he thought fervently, _I'll just have to watch myself—no Dark Arts and its evil will keep me from my goal. After all, I only have to understand it and then use it to pass my tests, after that, I never have touse them again!_ But even with these firm thoughts, a smaller, deeper part of Harry's subconscious was still harboring the thought of what it would be like, to have that kind of power, to save the ones you loved from anything, even death itself.

Soon after he finished, he noticed that Dareios had been silent, failing even to voice a single remark about how slow Harry was writing. But when he looked up, the wizard's face was focused on the fireplace, and in his eyes was something Harry couldn't quite recognize. That look vanished when the door opened and in came the two twin fellows: Matthias and Nikodemus. They walked over and bowed before their sponsor, who inclined his head and stood. Harry immediately got to his feet, juggling his quill, ink, notes, and book bag as he followed the other three down the left hall. After passing four doorways, three arch-entrances, and taking a turn to the right at a fork in the hall, they arrived in a squarish room that was smaller than the one they'd just left, but was still spacious. The floor was covered in the detailed rugs that Harry had seen in pretty much every room he'd passed in Dareios' quarters, and here the them was crimson and light brown, with a few chairs that were low on the ground without backs, but more like cushion-bowls than anything else he had ever seen. Other than the minor patterns on the floor boards, the room was relatively bare, with only the seats, and a case of shelves containing very plain, clay vases of various shapes and sizes. What they were for, Harry didn't know, and wondered about them as he packed his things into his bag. Once Dareios had sank onto one of the low chairs with surprising ease and dexterity for someone as old as he, the twins chose two more across from him and also sat in a tailor's seat; Harry did the same, choosing the other chair that was on the right of... was it Matthias? Or was it Nikodemus? Which one had the brown eyes? Ack—why did twins have to be so confusingly similar?

Dareios placed his hands, palms-up, on his knees, and the three pupils did the same. Harry again wondered what the point of all this was. Then his sponsor began to speak, once again in the gruff tone that he used with Harry. "This room is where we will practice the ability of controlling your magic," he said, "Without control, there is no hope that you can succeed. You will learn to gather your magic, your core, your essence, and bind it to yourself. With this, you will learn the power and point of a focus, as well as the faults of such common things. I will _attempt_," he went on disdainfully, causing Harry to stiffen, "to teach you how to open your mind, how to look beyond—past the boundaries of the world, and to your own inner aura."

It was all Harry could do to keep himself from snickering; Dareios sounded like Trelawney...

Dareios seemed to sense his amusement and glared at the young wizard, who immediately looked down, fighting a grin. "This is no joking matter, boy!" Dareios snapped, "If you do not control your magic, it will—and I promise you—it will destroy you! It will tear your mind apart, it will disintegrate your soul, and you will fail." His eyes were hard. "If you wish for that to happen—and I daresay I will be freed of the burden of educating a fool such as yourself—then by all means and magic, continue to express amusement."

Harry tensed. Surely that couldn't _really_ happen? It was just a method of scolding, wasn't it? "Then why are any wizards or witches still alive?" he insisted. "If we weren't taught in school, how come-"

"Protocol, boy!" Dareios snapped, causing Harry to clamp his mouth shut while inwardly he fumed. "And you cannot judge every matter in the universe by what 'your school' did or did not do! For all I can tell, all that your 'school' has managed to teach you is to be arrogantly narrow-minded!"

That struck a nerve in Harry. The old man was sounding incredibly like Snape... Arrogant was he? Just like his father, hm? Narrow-minded, was it? The Magister had not continued his tirade, but Harry had not noticed. His fury at Snape had come up in full strength, anger at the traitor's murder of Dumbledore, his betrayal of the Order. All the potions master's taunts and sneering comments rose in Harry's mind. All the unfair detentions and punishments, the cold, smirking treatment flashed through his mind... And now his Sponsor was showing signs of being just like that... he would not stand for it...

Unknowingly, Harry's anger had risen to such a height that his magic was affected by it. It flickered and sparked in his eyes, turning them hard and callous. His hands curled into white-knuckled fists. Sparks played across his shoulders, arms, and chest; they glimmered in the air around him—sharp splinters of magic. Things in the room vibrated: the others' robes, the chairs, the vases. Harry's scar was blood-red, and across the continent, Voldemort was startled by the sudden feeling of immense anger.

Matthias and Nikodemus' eyes were wide, and their bodies rigid—they had not felt such anger as they did now. But their training held, and they did not move or panic. Dareios was also unpleasantly surprised. His heart leapt into his throat, beating hard as he recalled a previous encounter with a wizard whose anger had come up in such away. "Potter!" he snapped, trying to draw the boy out of his emotional, and dangerous, state. "Potter!" The boy wasn't responding. Looking at his scar, Dareios saw its unnatural color. If the rumors were true, then that scar was a link to the Dark Lord Voldemort—not good. Only one thing left to do then...

As Harry's anger built up, he realized that he couldn't halt its progress. He had worked himself to too high, and he couldn't control it any longer. Realizing what Dareios had said just moments ago, Harry began to panic. He would fail before he had even begun! Voldemort and Snape would win! But no matter how hard he fought, he couldn't grasp his magic, he couldn't pull it back in. In despair, Harry knew he was losing, that his magic would tear him apart. He slowly began to stop fighting...

Suddenly, he felt something: a touch, cold but not sharp, in his mind. It pulled, it brought memories. He saw the faces of his friends, the Weasley, the professors at Hogwarts, the Order members, Remus, Sirius, his parents... he would fail them all... Voldemort would kill them all. All because of Harry... _NO!_ Harry shouted, clutching his head—his scar burned his hand—steam rose from it. He yanked and yanked, snatching his magic back—an entire shelf of vases shattered as a tendril of it slipped from his grasp. He pulled another group back—it burned, but he did it. Through pained eyes he saw the twins rigid and pale, not backing away from the danger. _MOVE!_ He tried to shout at them, but they merely stayed seated, ready to face whatever came. Such courage struck him. Who was he, to be afraid of his own magic? Hadn't he been placed in Gryffindor? He had escaped Voldemort multiple times, he had escaped death—could he not escape his anger as well? Could pain and anger overwhelm him? Cause him to harm others? No... he would not let it.

With a furious roar, still clutching his scar, Harry dragged at his magic, winding it up into a tight, painful ball inside of him. He would not harm others if he had anything to say about it. At last, the magic was all inside him, burning within his core, but there, not endangering anyone. His hands dropped to his lap as he slouched over, exhausted. His breathing was ragged as small tremors coursed through his body; his hands trembled, his scar steamed faintly. Eyes closed, Harry whispered hoarsely. "I—I'm sorry."

Something incredibly cool placed itself on his burning forehead, and the pain receded. He realized it was a hand as it made him look up. He found Dareios looking at him, his gaze intense, but revealing nothing. Tonelessly he said, "Anger is a powerful weapon, as is magic. Without control, all things fall. To regain your strength and empower your hold is what you will learn—you have learned your mistake of letting your anger cloud your mind. Now clear it, and we shall begin."

The Magister returned to his own seat, and the twins relaxed as if nothing had gone wrong. Harry wearily straightened himself, and listened as closely as he could as Dareios began his instruction. Harry was told to let all emotions fade away, to ignore everything, but be aware of it all at the same time. It was confusing, to say the least. How was he _not_ supposed to think, especially after that anger-episode of his? Was this Occlumency of a sort? He wasn't sure, but he tried to do as Dareios said anyway. The twins weren't as fidgety as Harry, but they also seemed to be having a hard time with this. Dareios told them to breath slowly in and out, softly enough so that they could not be heard. It wasn't until the twins were silent that Harry realized what a loud breather he was; Dareios noticed as well and rolled his eyes, but did not comment as he continued his instruction. Harry had been trying to clear his mind for a good two hours and was fighting off death by boredom when Dareios finally called a halt. That was enough for the day, but they would do it again tomorrow—Harry mentally groaned. For the last hour, Dareios trained the three in stretches to loosen their stiff legs, backs, and arms. The twins were rather flexable, able to touch their foreheads to the ground when they bent while sitting; Harry got half way down and winced. "Further, boy." Dareios ordered. Harry complied, gritting his teeth.

"I-" he began, "I don't think I can, Sir."

For a moment he didn't hear a response from his Sponsor, but he got one soon enough. Harry yelped as something pushed his back down and his forehead smacked lightly into the floor. The pressure released after a moment, and Harry snapped upright again like a rubber band. Dareios was smirking from behind him. "You have proven yourself wrong, boy."

Harry moaned softly under his breath—his body wasn't _meant_ for such torture! During that hour of stretching, Harry learned a valuable lesson: never say "I can't" in front of Dareios. The wizard seemed _very_ amused when he 'helped' Harry along in the stretches, just about every one of them was quite painful, and Harry was _not_ pleased with the soreness of his limbs. He was worse off than when he'd started! Instead of complaining, he bit his tongue—it was all he could do to keep from glaring at his smirking Sponsor. At long last, they exited the 'Control Room', as Harry joked to himself, and it was time for lunch. Harry was perhaps more thankful for the break than the twins, since they didn't seem that tired from the exercise, but Harry was sweating slightly. "Fix your hair, boy," Darios ordered absently before calling to someone; Sergei appeared within moments, and they all left for the dining hall.

The twins left to sit with Ivaylo and Anastasia, and Sergei went to a table with some other students his age while Harry scanned the hall for Yakov. Not seeing him, Harry went over to the table they'd sat at this morning. Looking at the food on the table, he grinned as he noticed that there was more bread. While the others chatted to each other, occasionally glancing at him but not with more interest than they would give a fly on the wall, Harry looked at the other foods, curious as to what they were called and made of. Deciding to stay on the safe side, he ladled himself a small bowl of soup and another of salad that looked like what he was used to, while taking some bread for his plate as well. He was about to take a bite when Yakov appeared, somewhat breathless and his cheeks slightly pink. He hastily sat down, giving Harry a friendly smile in greeting. But Harry noticed that his robes were a little...untidy, and his hair was mussed. Deeper in his eyes was a look... one that reminded Harry of Neville for some reason. But why? Yakov lowered his eyes as a group of other students entered the hall, laughing among themselves.

"How vas your first morning of teachings?" he asked with interest, setting his books down on the seat beside him.

Harry lowered his spoon. "Well, I had my class with Magister Sylvia first—but she taught in Bulgarian, so I couldn't understand a thing she said." Yakov smiled sympathetically and Harry went on. "Then I had a lesson on the history of the Dark Arts with my sponsor, then, and another three-hour session with...Nikodemus and Matthias, and Magister Dareios was teaching us control and then," his expression darkened, "stretches."

Yakov chuckled, his shoulders shaking with mirth. "Ah—so you 'ave discovered the 'art' tat is physical practice."

Harry snorted. "Art indeed—more like torture training."

He smiled. "Vell, I cannot help you vith tat, but perhaps during our free study time, it vould be useful to teach you some basics of the Bulgarian language?" he cocked his head in question as he poured them both a drink, waiting for Harry's answer.

The British-wizard's eyes widened. "Seriously?"

Yakov smiled again. "Yes."

"That'd be great!" Harry replied with a grin. "If you don't mind."

"Not at all—here," he handed Harry a goblet, raising his own. "Nazdrave."

Harry looked at the liquid. "Naz-eh-what?"

He chuckled. "_Naaaz-drave."_ He repeated. "It is Bulgarian for..." he frowned. "I believe you say 'cheers'?"

"Oh!" Harry raised his drink. "Nazudrayve." Yakov shook his head with a smile at Harry's atrocious pronunciation. Thirsty from the exercise he'd been doing earlier, Harry closed his eyes and took a large gulp; he didn't see Yakov's eyes shining mischievously. When the taste registered, Harry's eyes snapped open and he choked, desperately trying not to spit the drink out rudely. Yakov had a hand over his mouth to stifle his laughter as his entire thin frame shook with it. Harry forced the liquid down, bit by bit—it was _hard_ to do so.

He coughed and coughed once the drink was gone from his mouth. "Ugh!" he shook his head, holding it in his hands. That stuff had tasted like alcohol! He glared at Yakov when his sight wasn't spinning any longer. "You're cruel, you know that?" he growled. "Picking on helpless foreigners!"

Yakov slipped up and laughed heartily, though the noise was lost in the chatter of the hall. He continued to laugh until tears appeared at the corner of his eyes. "You—your face!" he laughed. "It vas—so many—colors! I had heard it vas so, but I had not seen it!"

Harry crossed his arms and continued to glare. "What _was_ that gross stuff?" he demanded, fighting the urge to gag from the after-taste that had suddenly come up.

"Rakia!" Yakov gasped, clutching his stomach.

Hearing other chuckles, Harry noticed that the others at the table had been watching and were now laughing too. Harry rolled his eyes, desperately fighting the laughter that was becoming contagious.

_Bulgarians..._ he thought to himself while holding back a grin.


	18. Black, Blue, & Bulgarian Language

**Review Responses:**

**Lordheaven: **_I'm glad to have your approval- really! And I want to thank you for your help, having an insider's opinion is invaluble! I'm afraid you'll have to wait just a little longer for Harry's Parslemouth ability to make its grand entrance; Harry has to get a little bit used to the life at Zotzion-- remember, it's technically only his second day! The pace will pick up a bit once all the classes are introduced, along with new characters, and with it--surprises and cliffhangers! Heheheh! I'd be glad to look at your story, though I have to warn you, I don't really know anything about StarGate, and I've only watched the old movie versions of Star Trek-- heck, I still don't know their names! Lol. Thanks for your help with the seasons and the langauge, it's helping _a lot_, and I hope I do it justice. If I don't, **please** correct me! Thanks for your help and support! --ASL._

**MinorMistake99:**_ Glad to know you liked the chapters, and that you reviewed! Harry will change immensly at Zotzion, though which direction and how, XD you don't get to know yet. Once Harry settles down a bit and the shock of going to an out-of-contry University fades some, you'll hear more of the Order and Harry's friends.Thanks again for your support, I'm always gald to read your reviews. --ASL._

_**I also want to thank** One Phoenix, pla303, mrmistoffelees, ForeverUsed, albert87**, and** Necessary-Evil **for your reviews, they mean a lot to me! I want to apologize for the delays in updating, school is absolutely hectic right now, loads of hw and other obnoxious things, XD. But I'll try to write the next chap as soon as I can. Thanks again for reading! --A.S. Leif**_

_--Thanks goes to Lordheaven for helping me with Bulgarian seasonsand language!--_

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Chapter 18: Black, Blue, and Bulgarian Language

Shortly after lunch, Harry followed Ivaylo back to Dareios' quarters, along with Sergei, who was talking to the dark-skinned warlock in rapid Bulgarian. _I can't wait till I actually get a word about what they're saying, _Harry thought to himself. Yakov had agreed to spend part of the free time they received with Harry in the library, studying Bulgarian and also assisting him with the homework he hadn't been able to understand. All Harry really could hope for was that the books weren't all written in Bulgarian too.

The lesson with Dareios last two hours, going over various forms of fighting: both magical and medieval. Harry blinked upon hearing what exactly he was going to learn. "You mean you're-" he stopped and put a hand over his heart.

Dareios sighed gruffly, "Yes?"

"Are you going to teach me to use weapons? Like swords and stuff?" Harry asked. He saw Ivaylo roll his eyes.

"Is that, or is that not what I said?" Dareios replied sharply. "I will not repeat myself to a student. You must learn to _listen_, boy." Harry placed his hand over his heart again, causing his Sponsor to say, "We are having a discussion boy, it is pointless to interrupt the flow of it by the overuse of that gesture. What is it?"

"Well Sir," Harry began, slightly frustrated by this new turn in Protocol. "I was curious as to _why_ we would be learning something like that."

"Why?" he exclaimed. "Why?" He broke of into a flood of exasperated Bulgarian, shaking his head. "Boy, _why_ are you taught to duel?"

"To defend myself, Sir."

"Then _why_ might you be taught to fight?"

"To defend myself, Sir."

"Tell me truly boy, was that so hard to figure out?"

"No Sir."

"Then why must you ask me for every miniscule reason when you might be able to use whatever common sense you posses?"

Great, back to the insulting jabs at Harry's intelligence. "Because Sir, I was wondering why we would be learning _that_ type of defense." He said, trying to keep his voice even.

"Why indeed? Logical reasoning, boy; everyone can use a bit of it, even you." Dareios replied, leaning back in his chair. "Think past what your school has taught you of close-mindedness, boy. Past whatever petty reasons they gave you that were supposedly the answers to all your questions. For once think past what you have been told."

Harry swallowed his anger—he didn't need another episode like the one he'd had earlier... Instead of giving a sharp reply, Harry thought about it. Why bother use something that was practiced hundreds of years ago? Magic was faster, more efficient, more standard. There were more tricks to it that gave you an edge. It wasn't odd, everyone used it...wait...everyone _did_ use it. "Magic's common," he murmured, "No one uses swords and things like that anymore."

Dareios cocked an eyebrow. "Continue."

"Learning different methods gives you the advantage, even though something else like magic might be faster, or you might know more about it," Harry went on, growing more confident in his answer, "That doesn't mean it will help you. People expect you to use magic in a duel: it's faster, it's easier, and it's less noticeable than carrying around a sword on your belt." He looked eagerly at his Sponsor, "Right?"

"Barely."

Ouch.

"You have the idea, boy," Dareios went on, "But not the right reasoning. Ivaylo? Perhaps you can fill in the gaps."

Ivaylo inclined his head and said, "Magic is not always faster, and it is never simple. A sword can flash before your enemy even has a chance to think of what curse to use. Magic is not less noticeable, all the flaring lights that are spells, or the effects of them, are noticed at all times. A weapon such as a sword can be hidden, so your opponent has no idea what lies in store."

Dareios nodded. "Correct." He looked at Harry sternly. "I suggest you remember that; your Theory of Magic and Reasoning class will stretch your mind to its limits with those sort of problems. You had best start working on it—you have a long way to go, boy."

The three of them then went into the Control Room and did..._stretches,_ Harry mentally groaned. A half hour of torture ensued, leaving Harry's legs smarting and muscles that he hadn't even known he had stinging like crazy. "If you do them before bed and before you got up, they wouldn't hurt." Dareios said with a smirk as he 'assisted' Harry in bending down farther. The wizard rolled his eyes and noticed that Ivaylo was nearly as flexible as Dareios himself.

_Why couldn't I be learning with the twins again?_ Harry thought to himself as he massaged his aching calf. _Ivaylo just ignores me, like a fly on the wall..._ He had no further time to pity himself, for Dareios then brought out three stout, wooden sticks, one which he tossed to Ivaylo, and the other to Harry. His Seeker reflexes allowed Harry to swiftly catch the item in his right hand; thank Merlin, one thing had been easy!

Just as he was readjusting his grip on the handle of the wooden sword and listening to Dareios explain that defensive maneuvers would be first on the list, something smacked him hard on the ribs. "OW!" Harry yelped, jumping aside and rubbing the assaulted area. He glared at Ivaylo. "What was that for?"

"If you had been paying _attention, _boy," Dareios growled, "You would have picked up on the fact that Ivaylo will be your opponent until you progress—Merlin knows how long that shall take." Harry flushed. "Now get a proper grip on your weapon and defend yourself! Ivaylo—low block demonstration." Ivaylo swiftly lowered his sword and parried Dareios' strike towards his knees and upper leg. Harry watched how the wizard kept his eyes on Dareios' blade rather than his own.

"Your turn, boy." As soon as Dareios spoke, Ivaylo struck, hitting Harry sharply on the leg. Harry swatted at the opposing weapon—and missed. "Pay attention, boy!" Dareios called sharply as Ivaylo's wooden sword came lunging forward. It wasn't until he'd been hit seven times that Harry actually managed to deflect him ever-so-slightly, resulting in a hit that didn't hurt quite as much. Once he managed to block five times in a row completely, they moved on to the middle block, and Harry was hit on the ribs, stomach, and lower arms.

"You'll have no limbs left in a real duel if you keep this up, boy," their Sponsor drawled. "And broken bones if you're so lily-footed."

Harry's face went redder as he struggled to catch on to the pattern of the middle-strike. Once he somewhat successfully blocked five times, the high block was introduced. A flurry of blows to his shoulders, chest, and upper arms sent Harry's balance out the window. Growing angry with the bored looks Ivaylo was giving him, Harry slapped his opponent's sword aside and lunged in himself. Ivaylo's eyes widened in surprise as Harry managed to hit him on the shoulder—barely. The tip of his sword had just tapped the area when Ivaylo's own weapon slithered up and slapped Harry's wrist, then twisted the wooden blade out of his hand.

Dareios caught the sword that flew into the air and glared at Harry. "You must listen to instructions boy," he growled, "To ignore them could get you killed—you will serve a demerit on Saturday, after breakfast—here. Understood?"

"Yes Sir." Harry muttered, his breathing heavy. Dareios gruffly tossed the sword back and Harry caught it, ready for the next succession of blows. As they moved on to a mixture of the three blocks, Harry thought with an inner groan,_ I'm going to be black and blue all over by morning...

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Aching and tired, Harry gathered his writing tools and wearily put them into his bag as he stuffed his newly-updated map into his sleeve. He had received permission from Dareios to go to the library for his free time; the Sponsor hadn't even so much as asked if Harry knew where he was, and none of the other fellows had offered to tell him. _Good thing Yakov said to meet near the main hall,_ Harry thought to himself as he trudged out the door, running a throbbing hand through his already-messy hair. Occasionally he passed a student or two, but they didn't pay him much attention other than a quick glance. Personally, he didn't care—he was too sore for it to matter.

When he finally reached the hall, he saw Yakov waiting for him, his nose buried in a book with an Italian title. Harry leaned against the wall nearby, deciding to wait for his friend to find a spot to finish. After five minutes, Harry decided that—like Hermione—Yakov could go on reading forever and not notice anything else. A pang shot through him as Harry remembered his friend... Not even a full two days yet, and he was already missing them. His throat tightened as he thought of Ron, Remus, and Ginny. "Good book?" he queried, trying to get those thoughts out of his head.

Yakov jumped with a yelp, causing Harry to laugh. The Bulgarian wizard glowered. "Tat vas not polite." He grumbled, straightening his robes.

Harry grinned. "Consider it payback for the drink during lunch—the Reeka."

"Rakia," Yakov sighed, "I do not see how ve are going to get you to understand the Bulgarian language if you can not pronounce something as simple as Rakia."

"It still reeked," Harry retorted, "I don't see how you can drink that stuff—it's vile."

Yakov smiled. "You vill change your opinions of many things before you leave, of tat I can assure you. Come, ve should start going to the library."

As they began to walk, Yakov pointed out some of the things that would help Harry remember. He told funny stories about the incidents that had caused some of the scratches or burns on the walls to appear—an accident in a potion had resulted in a fire-breathing rabbit with fangs that was twice the size of any person and with a taste for upholstery. They reached the fifth floor via a long spiral staircase, which led to a platform that was the beginning of one of the extremely-thin bridges connecting the towers of Zotzion. Harry balked at the archway leading to it, and his jaw hung at the view.

Shreds of grey clouds hovered about the towers. A light, misty fog hung around the bridge, swirling and catching the sunlight like miniature crystals. Frost coated the handrails and icicles draped in various sizes from the bottom of the bridge. The black stone that it was made of glittered, shining with a light coat of ice and soft patches of snow. But beyond the bridge was the true marvel: the land. All near the top of the mountains there were forests, all covered in pure-white snow, untouched and perfect, reflecting the light of the sun and sparkling like a carpet of cold, liquefied diamonds. The sun beyond the mountains, sinking slightly with the hour of the season, cast a bright, but soft light through the clouds—intense, but not painful. And beyond the tall mountains, at the bases of them, the land was lush and green, still warm. He spotted in the distance, bodies of water that were bright, azure blue, and orchards that spread like flowering blankets over the rolling hills. The wind rushed down low near the ground of the University campus, tossing drifts of snow from the branches as is mischievously spiraled upwards. It swirled around Harry in a rush, tugging at his heavy cloak and book-bag, causing him to stumble and be caught by the chuckling Yakov.

"This place was so creepy from below," Harry murmured.

"I _told_ you tat your opinions vould change," Yakov replied, smugly amused. "But enough of the gawking—ve have things to do."

Harry then remember that he would have to _cross_ the bridge. "Isn't it a little...slippery?" he asked as he tentatively stepped out onto the ice.

Yakov strolled forward confidently, "It is only a light glaze of ice, you vill be fine. The boots you are vearing, they have a grip on them vhich vill make it easier to valk."

Trusting that his friend knew what he was saying, Harry resisted the playful—but dangerous—wind and walked forward at a steady, slow pace. Yakov muffled his chuckle as Harry pulled up his scarf to ward off the cold. "Hey, I wasn't born an ice cube, okay?" Harry sighed, resisting the urge to laugh at himself as well. Yakov only grinned and led the way inside.

The library was an enormous circular room at the top of the tower, the walls covered in bookcases and lamps, rich rugs carpeting the ground, and braziers dotted throughout the place, far away, however, from any flammable papers. There were various nooks and tables for studiers, along with chairs and single desks for those who preferred to study alone or just read. The number of bookcases was overwhelming—they filled through the room like dominos, stuffed full of books and scrolls, the likes of which Harry had never seen, written in all sorts of languages and runes. He had hoped that not all things were in Bulgarian, well, they weren't—they were in all other languages.

Yakov was quite at home here, his owlish appearance and bookish nature making him a natural addition to the library, and he easily maneuvered through the tight spaces, past other study groups to a carved-out area tucked behind a large statue of a wolf and near an English selection of texts; it had a window to provide light, a small circular table and three worn, but comfortable, armchairs, which sat sheltered from the noise of the rest of the library. "You vill have to rent books from the library to take with you to classes," Yakov said as they sat down, "Since you vere so quickly accepted into the University. But ve shall do tat later. Now, ve vill work on your understanding of the Bulgarian language."

"Basics?" Harry asked hopefully.

Yakov chuckled. "Vith a mix of the terminology you need to finish your Artifact Properties homevork. Now, let's begin vith greetings—I vould get out paper and ink if I vere you. To say 'hello' to someone you do not yet know, or someone you respect, you say: 'Zdraveyete'..."


	19. Vladimir

_**Review Responses:**_

**Lordheaven:**_ I'm glad you're interested in Harry's classes, I myself hope I can make them up to my readers' expectations. XD You'll see more detail in them a little later, once Harry gets further into the swing of things. The demerits/detentions will be interesting, and maybe even a little fun for me to write XD, I already have a bunch of things planned. Harry might meet a girl at Zotzion, but right now the people aren't taking to him, save for Yakov, who is indeed a big help. Later Harry will meet others, they just might not be as close friends.Though I was wondering, how do you say 'here' as in 'I'm here', it would be usful for roll-call in class. Thanks for reviewing! _

**punkreader:**_ Hmm, the 'point-me' spell? A variation of that might work. Thanks for the tip! _

**Thanks also to _ForeverUsed_, _MinorMistake9_9, _OnePhoenix_, _cowboyjb_, and _William Knight_ for your support, it means a lot! I'm glad you all like the story! Hope to hear from you all again!**_

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A/N: I am soooo sorry for the horribly long delay! I hope you haven't given up on reading/reviewing! Stomach flu hit my family,and after I got better my parents and then my sister weren't in the best of shape. Add that to AIMS (stupid standardized testing here for highschool), and a stupid History project on the Russo-Japanese War and, well... bleh. But here it is, the next chapter! I hope to have another one up before__ another month nearly passes! XD I hope you like it!

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A/N: I am soooo sorry for the horribly long delay! I hope you haven't given up on reading/reviewing! Stomach flu hit my family,and after I got better my parents and then my sister weren't in the best of shape. Add that to AIMS (stupid standardized testing here for highschool), and a stupid History project on the Russo-Japanese War and, well... bleh. But here it is, the next chapter! I hope to have another one up before A/N: I am soooo sorry for the horribly long delay! I hope you haven't given up on reading/reviewing! Stomach flu hit my family,and after I got better my parents and then my sister weren't in the best of shape. Add that to AIMS (stupid standardized testing here for highschool), and a stupid History project on the Russo-Japanese War and, well... bleh. But here it is, the next chapter! I hope to have another one up before A/N: I am soooo sorry for the horribly long delay! I hope you haven't given up on reading/reviewing! Stomach flu hit my family,and after I got better my parents and then my sister weren't in the best of shape. Add that to AIMS (stupid standardized testing here for highschool), and a stupid History project on the Russo-Japanese War and, well... bleh. But here it is, the next chapter! I hope to have another one up before 

**Chapter 19: Vladimir**

It was around seven o'clock when Harry had to follow Yakov back down from the warm library and out into the chilly air, try not to slip and fall to his death on the traitorous walkway while ignoring his friend's laughter, rush down the stairwell which left him aching and gasping for breath, and then separate so he could make a dash for his room in Dareios' quarters. Hastily washing his face in a basin of cold water, Harry wet his hair in order to tame it some and hurried out to the main room, where the others were waiting already to go to dinner.

"Dry your hair next time, boy." Dareios commented gruffly. "And be here early if you must; lateness will not be tolerated for much longer. Understand?"

"Yes Sir," Harry sighed.

"And neither will that ungrateful tone!" he barked.

Harry straightened. "Yes Sir."

With a last shrewd glance at his newest apprentice, Dareios led the way to the dining hall, Harry trudging along in the back. The bruises he'd gained from the weapon-instruction earlier that day were forming, and they hurt like heck; he felt as if he'd been run over by a bloody hippogriff! Trying to hold in a series of winces as he walked, Harry slowly made his way over to his customary table, where Yakov was already seated, not looking at all out of breath from his run down from the library tower.

"Dobar vecher," the Bulgarian greeted cheerfully as he poured himself a goblet.

Harry chewed his lip, trying to remember what that meant. "Er—evening; and don't even think about pouring me some of that reeka stuff!" His glare caused the other wizard's hand to stop above the second goblet with a sigh.

"_Rakia._ Ra-ki-a!" Yakov insisted. "Get it correct for vonce!"

"Well, whatever the name is, I don't want it in my cup," Harry growled. "It's poison."

Yakov rolled his eyes, which were sparkling mischievously. "You foreigners 'ave veak stomachs, _tat_ is the problem."

Harry sniffed indignantly and poured himself something from a brass jug. Swirling it around carefully, he suspiciously sniffed it. Deciding that it seemed alright, he took a sip. He swished it around in his mouth and swallowed. "Not bad, what's this stuff?" he asked.

Yakov took a glance at the dark red liquid and answered, "Gamza—it is vine. I prefer Mayrud, it has more flavor."

Harry raised an eyebrow. Wine? How much alcohol did these people drink? He would have to be careful with what he drank. _So that limits me to...water, milk, ajran, and... that's about it._ He smiled ruefully to himself before taking note of what most of the people at the table were eating. Looking around, he grinned slightly and loaded a portion of his plate with bread, and a small dish of the yogurt he had come to love already after only a few meals. After a few minutes of close inspection, he chose something from an earthy green platter which had skewers of red peppers, onions, and chopped meat, coated in an unknown sauce. Taking a nibble, Harry thought for a moment. After swallowing the tasty bite, he opened his mouth.

"Kavarma," Yakov answered immediately, reading a portion of the book he'd been working on earlier that day when they'd met up to study.

Harry chuckled. "Am I already that easy to predict?"

"But of course," was the reply. "All British vizards are."

"And have you known many?"

"Tat is for me to know, and for you to vind out." Yakov chuckled. Harry rolled his eyes.

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Harry rolled over in his sleep, stuffing his head under his pillow to block out the small beam of sunrise that had pierced the thick curtains of his bedroom window. _Ten more minutes..._ he sleepily thought to himself. There was a creak as his door opened. Wait... he was havingdejavu here...door... sunrise..._WATER!_ Harry's eyes shot open and he threw himself from his bed with a yell, just as Sergei poked his head in. 

The young Bulgarian's eyebrows rose and he began to laugh. "What was that?" he smirked. "A banshee-repellent chanting ritual?"

Harry rubbed his severely bruised knees as he ducked his head to hide a blush. "I thought you would pour a bucket of water on me again," he muttered under his breath in embarrassment.

Sergei's grin widened. "And you were right to think so. However, I never wake someone up the same way twice. I have an imagination."

Harry swallowed, thinking of the expanse of the Weasley twins' imagination. "I'll—I'll keep that in mind, thanks."

"You're welcome. Now, I advise you to stretch before you get dressed, or your legs are going to be killing you later today. Not to mention you have Magister Vladimir for your Theory class today, and more exercise with Magister Dareios."

Harry's eyes widened in dismay. "You mean there's _more_ of that torture?"

Sergei raised an eyebrow. "You foreigners are strange, are you aware of that? Everywhere else physical training is a regular process, but you haven't the basic training of it under your belt." With a strange look and that stranger statement, the young apprentice left Harry to get ready.

Said wizard sighed and forced his aching limbs and torso through a few mild stretches that he'd learned for his Quidditch position as Seeker. Wincing all the while, he did them as quickly as he could, trying to remember where the name Vladimir had come from; it was familiar... While trying to get his hair to stay flat without getting it too wet and only succeeding in making it messier, Harry thought about the name again and again. He _would not_ ask someone, that would only make him look like a fool. It was only after Dareios' morning greeting (which consisted of a barking order to straighten his hair again), that he remembered what was familiar about the name. A pair of blue, smirking eyes, black hair, a drawling voice: Vladimir was the Elder of Zotzion. Vladimir was the wizard who had accepted Harry into Zotzion as a joke. Vladimir was theone who had forced Dareios to Sponsor him. Harry ground his teeth in frustration. Why in Merlin's name did he have to be taught by someone who he hadn't even really met, yet already felt like a fool in front of?

His irritation must have shown on his face when he sat down, because Yakov's brow creased in slight concern and he asked, "Vhat is wrong?"

"I've a lesson with Vladimir today," Harry growled out in a low voice before tearing off a piece of bread to chew ferociously on.

"Ahh," Yakov sighed knowingly, putting some bread on his own plate. "Vell, vhen you do have class vith him, my advice is this: do not loose your temper, no matter vhat the Elder does or say. The timetat yousay something in anger, is the time tat you vill say one of the things tat you vill regret for much time to come."

"Wonderful," Harry muttered. "Controlling my temper's never really been my strong suit."

"Then this is a good time to learn," Yakov replied with his usually friendly smile as he opened his book.

Harry sighed. How could the Bulgarian be so blastedcheerful about things like this?

* * *

However, Harry soon found that the lesson with Vladimir would not happen until directly before lunch, and in the time between he would be learning with the twins again in the Control Room, practicing stretches—he groaned upon hearing this—and clearing his mind to gather his magic. _Maybe I can get through this one without exploding anything,_ he thought remorsefully to himself as he followed the others back to Dareios' quarters. 

The following two hours seemed to pass terribly slowly, with Harry nearly falling asleep in his boredom. The twins didn't seem to have a problem, they didn't fidget—like Harry did, or glance around the room in search of something of interest—like Harry did. To the British wizard, his mind seemed to be emptier from lack of concentration than from actually trying and succeeding to do so. However, Dareios didn't notice for the most part, so other than a few berating comments, that part of the lesson went uneventful. Stretches followed the boredom-session, and Harry silently thanked Sergei for his advice in stretching before fully waking up. Though his legs were burning by the time they finished, and his back felt like it would never be straight again, it hadn't hurt as excruciatingly as it had yesterday. He hoped that someday it would be only mildly painful.

After meditation and stretches, Matthias and Nikodemus left for their own classes outside of their Sponsor's tutelage, and Harry once again took up his writing utensils for lessons in the Lore of dark magic. He learned more of the warlocks who had first practiced the Shadow magic, along with legends of spells and rituals they had used to further their lives, but which were lost to the ages through time and misfortune. As he took notes of Dareios' lecture, Harry wondered how Voldemort had felt, hearing these stories for the first time. Had he felt eager, interested, even exhilarated to hear that there were once ways to make oneself immortal? Imagining himself in Voldemort's place, Harry shuddered. No doubt these tales he was hearing now had put the match to Voldemort's explosive fervor for the Dark Arts. These stories were just another thing that connected them with a thick, ugly, black similarity. _But I won't turn,_ he thought angrily, _I won't become a monster..._

When the lesson in lore was over, Dareios informed him that he would have to rent texts from the library before tomorrow's lessons, as well as what other topics he would be studying. After scribbling down those bits, Harry found that dueling would be his next class after lunch. This gave him something to look forward to after what he was sure would be a disaster in his Theory of Magic class with Elder Vladimir.

When Dareios dismissed him, Harry followed Ivaylo up to another tower, down two staircases, through seven halls, and up another flight of steps in order to reach the Magister's classroom. They sat down at the desks and Harry got out his things ahead of time, so he wouldn't be caught sitting without them. He fiddled with his quill, noting sadly that Ivaylo was the only other person he knew in this class. A few other students were speaking English, but they were on the other side of the room.

The milky-skinned Elder glided through the door to his office like a dementor, his cold eyes scanning the audience of students, who had fallen silent the moment the doorknob had turned. His gaze passing over Harry, the Elder smirked slightly, a small sneer in his eyes. Wonderful. Harry had been right to not like him. With a coldly graceful flourish, Vladimir, sat down in the throne-like chair behind his desk, and called the roll. The students raised their hands rather than reply, so Harry did the same, trying not to grind his teeth in frustration at the sneering glance the Elder cast him. Why in Merlin's name did Vladimir despise him like this? The memory of his first potion's class at Hogwarts caused Harry's cheeks to flush in anger and his magic twinge. He lowered his gaze to his desk, trying furiously to block the similarity between Snape and Vladimir from his mind.

The Magister put away the roll and began to speak; in Bulgarian of course. He stopped in mid-sentence, then gave a cool chuckle and smirked. "Ah, my...apologies. I neglected to remember that _some_ of you have not yet taken upon yourselves the responsibility to fully research what is expected of you here at Zotzion."

Harry did not miss the sly look passed on him in particular before the Elder looked coldly at the other two students who only spoke English. "For those of you who have not thus far been capable of perceiving what it is I have said, in this class you shall be studying different views of magical practice, how to use it, when to use it, and what to use in a particular situation. You will learn much of your basic analysis skills here in this room, as well as the difference between certain magics. Such as...? Potter."

Harry blinked in surprise. "Different magics, Sir?"

"Yes, Potter. Name some. Surely the top secondary wizarding school in Europe has taught you _something_." Vladimir drawled mockingly in reply.

Harry's throat tightened in anger. "There's mind magic, wandless magic, and wand magic, Sir." He answered.

Vladimir snorted. "Those are all very much the same, Potter. Your Sponsor would do well to educate you in the simple nature of things before passing you on to this class." Harry swallowed his frustration, taking it out instead on the satisfying image of Vladimir bursting into feathers. "Drastion." The Elder called.

"There are elemental magics, natural magics, dark and light magics, aura magics, telepath and empathy magics, and also magics of race, Magister, to name a few." Answered the brown-haired English speaking wizard.

Vladimir nodded. "Such magics are commonly known, or rather _should_ be, to you all." He raised an eyebrow mockingly at Harry, who looked down with an aggravated breath. "Though the practical learning of these magics are primarily the accountability of your Sponsors, you shall practice them occasionally within this class, though it is principally a class to educate you in decision making when various magic types are concerned. In here petty squabbles of the world in regards to ethics and beliefs shall be disregarded. Obliterated. They do not matter. As it has once been said before, very wisely, there is no good or evil, only power and those too weak to seek it. And how to use that power is what you shall learn here. I say Potter, does that prospect daunt you?"

The Elder sneered at Harry, who had flinched at the quote. Voldemort had said that once... He, Harry, was supposed to follow the words that had been said to him by the man who tried to murder him...?

"No Sir, I'm not afraid of a challenge." He replied stubbornly.

Vladimir's icy eyes narrowed. "Is that so?" he sneered. "Well we shall se how firm you are in that resolve. I will tell you allnow, I expect afour page report on the debate of elemental magics versus natural magics, due next class. Open your books, and we shall begin." He caught sight of Harry's empty desk while the other students were taking out their own materials. He raised an eyebrow and smirked. "What, not prepared Potter? Tsk, tsk. Your Sponsor truly must be disappointed to have a student so ill-equipped to face daily _challenges._ That is a demerit for lack of materials, Potter, to be served on Sunday."

That was unfair! He'd just gotten here a few days ago! How was he supposed to know what books he needed? Nobody would tell him! "I'm already serving on that day," Harry retorted, face red.

Retorting was a bad idea, but Harry only gathered that after Ivaylo shot him a wrathful glare. Vladimir's eyes grew colder. "You will serve a demerit on Sunday, Potter, as well as one on Monday for disrespect towards the Elder. I expect you in my office after you complete your other demerit. Understood?"

"Yes, _Sir_." Harry ground out fro between clenched teeth.

Vladimir was indeed another Snape...

* * *

Translation(s):

Dobar vecher: _Good evening_

---Thanks to Lordheaven for the translation from Bulgarian to English!---

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	20. Eleutharios

**Review Responses:**

**Lordheaven: **_I like Vladimir too, for being a pretty big jerk. It's going to be fun to write his interactions with Harry. I know I've probably said this before, but you'll hear of Ron and Hermione soon enough. I just have to get through the first week before things really start heating up. Thanks for your advice on Bulgarian, and it is going to be funny when Hermione realizes that Harry learned something before her! Lol. Looking forward to hearing from you again!_

**Thanks also to my dear reviewers **_jacketgolf33__, aragog, Night Wanderer, punkreader, and OnePhoenix. _**However, I would also like to apologize to _all_ my readers, for the annoying delay. As I have told to some who inquired via PMs, FanFiction first would not let me sign in, and then whenever I tried to upload this file, it said that it did not exist. So I had to find a way to go around; I tried other computers, at home, at friends', at the library, and tried uploading it from a floppy or CD! But nothing was working until my brother took apart the hardrive and dusted the inside of it. So, without further ado, here is chapter 20! And I am extremely sorry for the wait!

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**Chapter 20: Eleutharios**

Harry was not looking forward to informing Dareios that he'd gotten another demerit, not at all. He could already imagine his Sponsor's face, if Ivaylo's wrathful expression was anything to go by... _Well, the weekend starts in three days, so I'll have four until I have to tell him..._ he thought. Then again, keeping something from Dareios didn't exactly seem like the smartest thing to do. Harry sighed as he dropped off his things, attempted to flatten his hair, and left with the others for the dining hall.

Yakov wasn't at lunch for some reason, so Harry was forced to eat alone. The meal was strangely quiet without the cheerful, studious Bulgarian around to explain things. Of course, finding out what he would be learning next with Dareios wasn't quite pleasant either, and it did not help his mood at all. He had potions next. _Yet another way to embarrass myself and reveal my 'intolerable ignorance', _Harry snorted to himself. Focusing on his feet was the only way he could keep from grinding his teeth, a hatred surging up in him as he related potions with the one man he despised more than Voldemort.

He was surprised to find, however, that they traveled to a different room to practice, rather than some sort of lab in Dareios' quarters; and he was also a little shocked, and unnerved, to find that he would be learning with all of the others who shared his sponsor. _Wonderful, more people to make a fool of myself in front of..._ He trudged in after Matthias, eyeing the cauldrons and materials with some trepidation. He had managed to get an 'E' on his potions OWL, surely this couldn't be so hard? Who knew, he might even _learn_ something this year, now that a slimy, greasy-haired, over-large, treacherous, sneering, bast—bat wasn't teaching him.

"If you are going to sulk, boy, do it in private; I have no tolerance for it!" the barked command snapped Harry out of his daze in time to realize that the others were going into a separate lab, while Sergei appeared behind Dareios, to stand beside one station.

"Yes Sir," Harry replied automatically.

Dareios cleared his throat, ruffling his beard a little bit, the movement quite comical—not that Harry would ever dare to say that out loud. "As you have no doubt—or rather, _hopefully_ noticed, you will not be learning potions with your other fellows. Seeing as how they have been with me for much longer than you, I find it impossible that you would be able to begin at their level and progress successfully. And as long as the condition is such, you shall be educated along with Sergei, who is roughly of the same competence as yourself. Now come up here, boy, we don't have all day."

_Lucky me, _Harry thought dryly, _I only have to humiliate myself in front of a kid._

"Now, today we shall begin on the Table of Conflicting Elements." Dareios said as Harry and Sergei sat down next to each other, sharing a station between them. Harry took out the potions text he'd brought with him, grimacing as he realized that it was Snape's old copy. _I thought I'd burned it..._ Hurriedly he tore his gaze from the text; it wasn't its fault that itsformer owner was a murderer. He started taking notes on what Dareios was saying in the blank pages in the back—better to keep all his notes together than risk losing some. _If only Hermione could see me,_ he thought with a small, wry grin that went unnoticed by his Sponsor, _writing in a book—how ashamed she'd be._

Dareios finished lecturing, then quickly drew a large, organized diagram on the board near the front, which they also copied down. He then ordered them to set up their own cauldrons and get out the ingredients written in the table. Since none of the jars or drawers were labeled, Harry's memorization of what the ingredients looked like was put to the test, and he was satisfied when he only missed three—which earned him another round of Dareios' informing him of his ineptitude; it stung a little, but then rolled off. Once they had the water in their cauldrons at a boil, Dareios wrote several questions on the board, and—using the chart they'd copied down—they had to find the answers, then combine the ingredients. If done correctly, the cauldron would remain whole. If done wrong, the cauldron would explode. When they had that down, they had to do the reverse, actually _cause _the cauldrons to melt (or give off an enormous cloud of smoke in this case, since Dareios charmed anti-destruction onto the cauldrons) by combining the ingredients in the wrong order, so they could see the effects. Personally, Harry thought this rather entertaining; it was certainly something Neville would excel at. However, his entertainment died quite a bit when they then had to do the same thing, but without the aid of the diagram. There were quite a few more exploding cauldrons from Harry this time around, four, to be exact, and Dareios was not in the least bit pleased. Sergei, on the other hand, found it incredibly amusing, his face split in two by a wide grin. When they all left the lab two hours later, Harry was covered waist up in soot, but a slight smile on his face, and Sergei's expression was mildly amused and slightly irritated—he'd gotten splashed by the last exploding mixture, earning a scorch mark in his hair. For the first time in his life, Harry'd actually had a bit of—dare he think it?—_fun_ in a potions class. Sure, Slughorn hadn't been a bad teacher, but Harry'd been a bit too preoccupied to fully enjoy the class.

After potions came more history of the Shadow arts, and Harry waited until the end of the lesson before breaking the news to his Sponsor about his new demerit. Bracing himself, Harry placed a hand over his heart and when Dareios gave him permission to speak, he hesitantly informed the older wizard of it. The Magister's face went from its normal color to a strangely coppery red, starting from beneath his beard to rise up and vanish into his grey hair. He angrily fidgeted with his robes as he immediately began to growl, snap, and rumble furiously in Bulgarian—from his tone, Harry suspected some of it to be cursing. "Have you learned nothing, boy?" his Sponsor shouted. "You follow instructions to the letter, accept what you are given, and _respect_ your superiors! Not only have you succeeded in not following a single one of those simple prospects, you showed such ignorance to the _Elder_! The head of this school!" He once again broke off into rapid Bulgarian.

Harry bowed his head and waited until Dareios finished his angry tirade. For some reason, hearing his Sponsor's anger stung more than hearing someone like his Uncle shout insults at him. At long last, Dareios brusquely informed him that he would do well not to disgrace him further in front of Vladimir before dismissing him roughly. Harry was more than willing to escape to his room and collect his things to study and finish his homework. He traveled to the main hall, and found Yakov waiting for him. He'd been assisting a Magister during lunch, apparently, and was eager to hear how Harry's day had gone. As they made their way back up to the library, Harry explained his day in low, sighing tones.

"Vell, I suppose it could have been vorse," Yakov commented when Harry finished.

The British wizard looked at him with exasperation. "Are you _always_ so optimistic about _everything?"_

He smiled. "Vhat is the point in looking on the bad side of things? Vould anything good come of it? No. Looking on the good side of things helps one to get along in the vorld, makes it simpler, I suppose you could say. Now come, it is time you got your books, so you do not have another lesson such as the one you had vith Elder Vladimir."

They spent several minutes browsing the English shelves, Yakov only shaking his head if Harry picked up an incompetent book, or nodding if it was a good one. Other than that, Harry was on his own to find things for his various subjects. After renting them indefinitely from the crooked-backed librarian, who viewed Harry suspiciously with his strangely bright blue eyes, they returned to their spot in the back of the library and got to work.

* * *

The following morning was a tense one. Apparently Dareios still hadn't cooled down after hearing of Harry's demerit-reception, so it seemed to Harry that when they practiced stretched that morning after breakfast, the Magister chose especially difficult and painful ones for them to do. Clearing his mind came a little easier this time though, so that was something. Surprisingly, there was free time before lunch, so Harry met up with Yakov once again to finish up on Harry's assignment for Artifact Properties class, and brush up on the bit of Bulgarian he'd been learning for the past few days.

When lunch passed—after an eventful meal that Harry ate which sent his mouth on fire and resulted in him practically leaping for the water pitcher (it turned out to hold Rakia instead) and Yakov nearly falling out of his seat with laughter—Ivaylo led Harry to the third, and final, class that they would have outside Dareios' tutelage: Creatures and Binding Magics. This classroom, located on the ground floor near the side of the mountain that was covered in forests and was warmer than the rest, had a vastly different air about it than the others Harry had been in. For one, it was brightly lit by the open windows, which allowed fresh air and sunshine to flood the room; it was surprisingly warmer because of it too. _That in itself makes this my favorite class,_ Harry thought to himself with a quiet chuckle. He was even more surprised and pleased when the other students who entered included Yakov in their number. Harry grinned at his friend, who smiled and came over.

"Shouldn't you be in the more advanced class?" Harry asked quietly as the other students found seats.

Yakov shook his head. "No. Magister Eleutharios is beginning a new..." He frowned, trying to think of the word in English. "Course type?"

"Subject?" Harry offered with a slight grin, glad to be able to know something in English that Yakov didn't.

Yakov's owlish eyes narrowed behind his large glasses at his friend's amusement. "Yes—tat is the word."

"What's the subject now, then?" he asked.

The wizard shrugged as a door at the back opened. "You will see, as shall we all."

Harry rolled his eyes before settling them on this newest Magister. His first impression was that he could have been related to Hagrid, he was that tall. An enormous man, Magister Eleutharios was at least seven and a half feet tall, if not eight. With a broad chest and shoulders as wide as one of the smaller desks, large, muscular arms and huge hands, he seemed to barely fit through the door, and even fit less into his robes, which he wore open, as most of the people here did. His hair—unlike Hagrid's—was smooth, but slightly mussed, and black in color, with threads of copper thrown in like a dash of salt. His brown eyes were deep set under a thick brow, but they sparkled with energy andan uncanny youthfulness for a man who looked to be in his late forties.

"Velcome all!" he boomed, clapping his hands together, causing them to crash like cymbals. His voice was incredibly deep, deeper than any Harry had ever heard, and his accent was barely noticeable, just a few 'v's in place of 'w's on occasion; in fact, his accent was only slightly Bulgarian, the rest seemed... familiar. "I am incredibly pleased to see so many of you in my class. And just in time too! Having returned from the Western part of Europe, I have brought many new things with me upon my return to our dear Zotzion! Which is the reason you all have been put together for this class. Here you shall be learning, of course, of creatures and ways to treat with them, track them, and trick them on occasion. Though I would advise against doing so with a manticore." Several of the students chuckled, and Harry couldn't help grinning. "But along with tat, you shall also be learning of Bonds, and Summoning: a rare art practiced by few among the magical races, and for good reason." He looked around at all of them. "Alright, let us begin with roll call, and then the true learning shall begin." He went through the names, and Harry was grateful that the man did not give him any odd treatment when his name was called.

"Today we shall begin with the basic practice of Binding." The Magister started. "If you open your books to the table of contents, past the boring introductory texts, you shall look for and find a diagram including the most common runes used for such magic. The diagram should begin with binding a spell to an object. Read the explanation, then grab one of the medallions from a nearby shelf, and practice a basic health-enhancement charm..."

They went through the class, and Harry found it rather interesting. Working with Yakov made things a lot easier, and more familiar. In the other classes he had been alone, here it was more like Hogwarts, with a friend to talk to while getting something done. A pit suddenly appeared in his stomach, causing Harry to realize that he missed his friends. _It's your own fault, you know, _part of him said,_ you convinced them not to apply to Zotzion in the first place._

_Yeah, but they probably wouldn't have gotten in either,_ another part retorted._ Since you were only accepted as part of a joke._

Shaking his head with a deep breath to calm the frustration growing inside his gut, Harry concentrated once again on his medallion, then flipping through his book once he finished. They took notes for a moment, practicing with other charms, such as bad and good luck charms, minor jinx attachments, and small healing spells. It was complicated, figuring out the runes and how to write them with your wand, and making sure that the metal and design of your medallion didn't conflict with the Bind, but they got through it in the two and a half hours that they were at it. And this was only the simple stuff! Harry got a headache just thinking about what sort of difficult charms and spells they would have to Bind to things later.

The students were packing up and filing out the door, andHarry wasjust about to step out after Yakov, when Magister Eleutharios' voice boomed out, "You there, lad!" He was looking at Harry. "You are one of Magister Dareios' no? I need you to deliver something to him for me."

Harry waved so-long to Yakov and obediently walked over to the Magister, who was writing a quick note. Once the last student had gone, he looked up from his desk, which scarcely came to his waist when he sat, despite how big it was. "You are from England, aren't you lad?"

Harry placed a hand over his heart first, causing the big man to laugh, the sound reverberating throughout the room. He waved a large hand. "No need for such protocol here, my lad, old Dareios is one of the few who stands by the old traditions to the letter."

"Then I had better stay in practice, Sir." Harry replied immediately, then clamped his mouth shut when he realized that he had spoken out of turn.

But instead of reprimanding him, Eleutharios merely smiled, deep crow's feet appearing at the corners of his eyes. "That you should. But returning to my question, are you not from England?"

"I am, Sir." Replied Harry.

"I myself have just returned from England. Nice country. Not in the best condition as of late, I'm afraid," he sighed, leaning back in his chair, looking sadly out the window. "Not in the best at all..."

Harry's eyes hardened. "No Sir, it hasn't."

Eleutharios glanced at him with a curious expression. "You are from Hogwarts, no?"

"I am, Sir."

"And you left before finishing your education?"

"I did, Sir."

"Might I inquire as to why?"

"You can, but I can't guarantee an answer." Harry inwardly cringed again; what was it with him and getting short with teachers now a days?

The Magister merely smiled slightly again. "Dareios is rubbing off on you already lad, and not here even a full week as of yet! Ah, well. Here is the letter I wanted you to deliver, Mr. Potter, and you had best hurry back."

Harry blanched when he realized that he was already late, and didn't think he would be able to find his way back in time. He bowed to the Magister and headed towards the door, the wax-sealed parchment in hand. "Oh, and I find that a pointing charm comes in quite handy in tight places," Eleutharios remarked to the air. Harry grinned slightly in thanks and hurried off before he was too late, muttering a version of the point-me charm to find his way back to Dareios' quarters. Why hadn't he thought of that before?


End file.
